


Terminus

by Foresmutters_Archivist (Open_Doors)



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1982-01-01
Updated: 1982-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 23:55:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 48,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/919542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Open_Doors/pseuds/Foresmutters_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By Judith Gran</p>
<p>At the end of the five-year mission, Kirk and Spock find opposition<br/>within Starfleet to the idea of their serving together in starship command<br/>positions in the future. Nogura has his own plans for Kirk, and takes a dim<br/>view of Kirk's and Spock's relationship. But the lover's own different needs<br/>and desires are the greatest challenge of all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Terminus

**Author's Note:**

> Copyright 1997 by Judith A. Gran. This is an original work  
> of amateur fiction based on Star Trek. It makes transformative use  
> of Star Trek and is intended only for noncommercial purposes. This  
> work makes "fair use" of Star Trek copyrighted material; it is not  
> intended to infringe on the intellectual property rights of  
> Paramount, Viacom or other owners of copyright in Star Trek or  
> any of their assignees or licensees. The author's copyright extends  
> only to the original material in this work. 
> 
>  
> 
> This version is slightly changed from the one Judith published in 1982, in her multimedia fanzine Organia.

Title: Terminus  
Author: Judith Gran  
Series: TOS  
Romance Code: K/S  
Rating: NC-17  
Summary: At the end of the five-year mission, Kirk and Spock find opposition  
within Starfleet to the idea of their serving together in starship command  
positions in the future. Nogura has his own plans for Kirk, and takes a dim  
view of Kirk's and Spock's relationship. But the lover's own different needs  
and desires are the greatest challenge of all.

 

TERMINUS  
by Judith Gran

 

Promptly at 1000 hours, Commanding Admiral Heihachiro  
Nogura called the holocom conference to order. The images of the  
other six members of the General Staff already had solidified in his  
office; each held copies of the material for today's meeting.  
Admiral Sengumba materialized directly across from  
Nogura--*a harbinger of impending confrontation?* Nogura  
wondered. Tall, black and bristling with impatience, like a lion  
wanting to spring from his chair, the African seemed larger than life  
in holographic projection. *An illusion,* Nogura told himself. After  
all, he himself had been told that holographs smoothed out the  
wrinkles in his own parchment-like skin, emphasized his well-kept  
white hair, made him seem slim and courtly rather than merely thin.  
But it was uncanny how much of one's personality could be  
transmitted through those literal electronic beams.

  
Nogura girded himself for the feat of strategy that lay  
ahead: managing today's meeting. Looking around the room, he  
counted votes: Rao and Krasnovsky, with him; Sengumba and  
Mendez, against; Yuval and Abd al-Hamid--wavering. Deliberately,  
he picked up the agenda and, after a perfunctory greeting, directed  
the other admirals' attention to the first item: "*U.S.S. Enterprise,*  
post-Five-Year-Mission assignment."

  
No sooner had Nogura finished reciting the topic when  
Sengumba spoke, objecting to the arrangement of the agenda.  
"Admiral, I question why you have asked us to discuss the  
deployment of the *Enterprise* without first resolving the issue of  
our policy toward long-term space exploration."

  
Nogura frowned as Mendez nodded agreement. He'd set the  
agenda for today's meeting precisely to *avoid* a discussion of the  
future of the long-term exploratory missions. He feared he could  
not carry a majority of the Staff with him if the vote were taken  
today. He thought it more strategically sound to postpone the  
decision until after the *Enterprise,* the symbol of the five-year  
mission, had been locked safely into another assignment, But  
perhaps he'd have to confront the issue squarely after all.

  
"Gentlemen, it would be premature to debate the policy  
issue today," Nogura said crisply, "not before we have analyzed the  
outcomes of the first five-year mission. Without that analysis, we  
cannot commit ourselves to a further long-term mission."

  
Jose Mendez drew a report out of the hard-copy folder he  
held on his lap. "I'd have thought," he said drily, "that with these  
materials we could make a reasonably educated decision. We've  
read your own cost-benefit analysis of the current mission--" he  
held up a thick document--"and now we have Captain Kirk's own  
final report on the mission's accomplishments." He tapped an even  
thicker report. "I believe we're all prepared to proceed with  
discussion of these materials."

  
"The two perspectives balance each other nicely," Nur  
Yuval added deferentially, a bit too deferentially for Nogura's  
satisfaction.

  
"Quite,"Mendez nodded. "Your report concludes that the  
five-year mission has been an expensive frill, while Kirk's concludes  
just the opposite."

  
Nogura felt a surge of irritation. How unfortunate that  
Kirk's articulate, carefully worded report had arrived last week,  
well in advance of the final debriefing when it was actually due.  
Nogura had just put together his own comprehensive analysis  
demonstrating, in elaborate matrices of figures, that the costs of the  
five-year mission had far exceeded its tangible benefits. He was sure  
that Kirk had known, or guessed, what his own report was  
designed to prove. For Kirk had had his own science staff produce  
elegant mathematical models that, in essence, quantified the  
substantial non-material benefits that the five-year mission already  
had produced for the Federation, and sophisticated equations  
projecting significant economic gains from the *Enterprise*'s  
discoveries in the future.

  
The soft, gutteral voice of Admiral Promila Rao broke the  
silence. "In view of the disparity between the conclusions of the  
General Staff Office and those of Captain Kirk's crew, I suggest this  
the discussion be postponed until after the *Enterprise* debrieifng.  
That will give us a chance to go over Kirk's analysis with a  
fine-toothed comb," she said smoothly.

  
Nogura shot the aristocratic Brahmin a look of disguised  
gratitude.

Sengumba was frowning. "The Federation Assembly is  
going to vote on next year's Starfleet appropriation in another three  
weeks," he said testily. "The bill barely made it through the Armed  
Services Committee, and the opposition nearly has the votes to  
emasculate it on the floor. We need Captain Kirk's report as  
ammunition for our supporters during the final debates. Kirk's data,  
which show that the mission has had significant non-material  
benefits, bolster the case for the appropriation the Defense Ministry  
has asked for Starfleet next fiscal year, while *your* report--" he  
looked coldly at Nogura--"only helps make the case against us.  
We've argued to the legislature that Starfleet is a benign exploratory  
force, committed to alien contact. Announcing our decision to  
renew the five-year mission *now,* before the vote is taken, will  
vastly improve our credibility."

  
Nogura squirmed. The sturdy African served as the General  
Staff's legislative liaison, and his analysis of the situation in the  
Assembly carried considerable weight with the other admirals.  
Nogura knew Assembly politics as well as Sengumba, but he  
composed his features and tried a bluff.

  
"The Coalition is a strong supporter of Starfleet," he said  
blandly, "Commodore Ciani has represented us most effectively to  
the New Humans. I don't anticipate any opposition from that  
direction."

  
But Abd al-Hamid was gesturing in Sengumba's direction,  
trying to get his attention. "Are you suggesting that the New  
Humans may split with the rest of the Coalition on the  
appropriations vote?"

  
Sengumba nodded emphatically. "Yes. The New Humans  
are quite vulnerable to their opponents on the left--the Interstellar  
Harmony group, the Focus on Universal Peace people, the Friends  
of All Life Forms, the other splinter groups. The New Humans  
claim to be anti-militarist, and the opposition enjoys playing on the  
theme that Starfleet is an outmoded, militaristic fossil that is  
retarding the development of an interstellar, trans-Federation  
civilization."

  
Again, Mendez was nodding his agreement. So was Yuval.  
Nogura leaned backed in his chair in annoyance. He felt  
impatient with his colleagues' sentimental attraction to the romantic  
appeal of space exploration. "In three weeks, gentlemen, the  
*Enterprise* herself will be back in Earth orbit. Its very presence  
will impact on public opinion. The effect on the Federation  
Assembly will be far more powerful than any announcement we can  
make. I suggest that we take full advantage of the symbolic value of  
the *first* five-year mission, before we commit ourselves to vast  
expenditures on the basis of speculation that it will win us a few  
votes in the legislature."

  
Sengumba looked unimpressed, Yuval and Mendez openly  
skeptical. Even the mild Abd al-Hamid looked puzzled. "Explain,"  
he asked Nogura.

  
Nogura was annoyed that the discussion had drifted so far  
from the plan he had so carefully composed. He leaned back again  
and took a deep breath. "I am convinced that if we do as Admiral  
Sengumba suggests and send the *Enterprise* off into space on  
another five-year mission, the ship and its crew will disappear from  
public attention with the same speed as the ship. We'll be left with  
nothing--beyond a temporary propaganda gain--and we'll be  
committed to financing another five-year mission, whether we can  
afford it or not. On the other hand, if we keep the *Enterprise* here  
for a while, with the ship and key members of the crew performing  
appropriate symbolic functions, it will be an enormously effective  
advertisement for Starfleet."

  
Abd al-Hamid still looked uncertain, and Nogura began to  
fear that he would not find his majority this morning. "Admiral, a  
significant body of public opinion considers that the Five-Year  
Mission is virtually the *only* thing of value Starfleet has done in  
the last five years. I'm not sure any symbolism will affect that."

"If we let the *Enterprise* do our PR for us," Nogura  
countered stubbornly, "We'll get more public support than if we  
sent the whole fleet on a five-year mission."

  
Abd al-Hamid's round face was still skeptical. "I'm afraid of  
taking a chance and being proven wrong," he said.

Intuitively, Nogura knew that he'd be outvoted if he  
continued to press the issue. Sengumba's political savvy had  
impressed his colleagues. Whatever the other Admirals' opinions  
might be on the merits of another five-year mission, they appeared  
convinced that it was politically expedient to let the legislature think  
they supported the concept.

Nogura paused a short moment to stifle a small inner qualm  
before he resolved to play his trump card. He his not relish playing  
dirty pool, nor did he enjoy trespassing in another Staff member's  
domain. Only when the stakes were as high as they were here, and  
only when he was utterly convinced he was right, as he was now,  
did he allow his inner streak of ruthlessness to override professional  
courtesy.

"All right. In any event, we'll be refitting the *Enterprise*  
when she docks. Mission or not mission, she's going to be our test  
starship for the new design specs."

Nogura smiled to himself as he saw smiles all 'round. *This*  
decision inspired no controversy. His adrenaline rose in  
anticipation. "Admiral Mendez, when will Design Engineering have  
the plans completed?"

Mendez's answer was routine, almost automatic. "In six  
weeks, sir, as scheduled."

Nogura tapped a button on his hand-held computer "Admiral, I  
have here a report from a member of your staff, Commodore  
D'Amico, a specialist in phaser design The report was submitted to  
me in confidence, but I'd like you to look at it and give me your  
reaction."

Mendez looked startled. "D'Amico? He paused a moment  
while Nogura transmitted the file to him electronically. When he  
finished reading it on the small device he held in his hand, his face  
was aghast. "Admiral, this is D'Amico's own personal opinion. The  
other designers have agreed--"

Firmly, Nogura interrupted. "According to D'Amico, major  
problems exist in the powering of the ship's phaser banks that still  
have not been resolved. He recommends that we not proceed until  
they are resolved, and I quite agree with him."

Mendez was stunned, then angry. Nogura hardly blamed  
him. Ordinarily, he would have checked with Mendez first before  
even contemplating a discussion like this in the full General Staff  
meeting. Going over a colleagues' head went against the grain with  
him. But the report was a handy weapon, and he had no scruples  
about using it in these circumstances.

"Admiral," Mendez said heatedly. "This question was settled  
in our department long ago. The other designers rejected D'Amico's  
proposal for increasing phaser power by channeling it through the  
warp engines; they considered it far too dangerous. D'Amico has  
remained a minority of one in the department. The other designers  
are proceeding with the detailed specifications on schedule."

"Nevertheless, Admiral," Nogura interjected smoothly, "He  
makes a very convincing argument. He brought it to my attention  
because he knows that I am very concerned about our overall  
weapons capability via a vis the Klingons. D'Amico's proposal  
would enormously increase the efficiency of our phasers, and I  
believe that it deserves serious attention."

Mendez looked uncomfortable. D'Amico was a specialist in  
phaser bank design, he was not. If he'd had warning of this, he  
could have gotten material together from other members of his  
staff, but as it was ....

Nogura had the other admirals' full attention now. "All I  
ask, gentleman," he said softly, his eyes sweeping around the circle,  
"is that we give the phaser design issue the attention it deserves."

Mendez wriggled in his chair. Nogura was pleased to see  
the looks of embarrassment not only on Mendez's face, but on  
Yuval's and Sengumba's as well. He pressed his advantage.

"I think it's obvious that we must delay readying the new  
design plans while we reconsider the phaser bank problem. It will  
take twelve months to refit the ship as it is. And if we have to keep  
the *Enterprise* idling in orbit for six, nine months, or even a year  
while we wait for the designers--well, not only would that be  
prohibitively expensive, it would be extremely embarrassing as well.  
Public proof of our inability to meet our own deadlines. We simply  
cannot risk a public image of incompetence to add to our other  
problems."

Mendez looked stricken, and privately Nogura felt sorry for  
him. Jose was perfectly competent in running his own department,  
and D'Amico was an eccentric prima donna who didn't know how  
to let a pet idea drop. Nogura knew that he had taken unfair  
advantage of a minor disagreement among Jose's staff that the other  
admiral had probably handled rather well.

The arguments in favor of the alternative phaser bank design  
appealed to Nogura personally, though he understood perfectly well  
why the other designers had rejected it. But, fortunately, that wasn't  
the issue now, and for now he was satisfied. He knew he'd won his  
battle to keep the *Enterprise* where he wanted her.

"What are we going to do with the *Enterprise* until the  
designs are completed?" asked Admiral Krasnovski. We can hardly  
send the symbol of the peaceful exploratory mission off to patrol  
the Klingon borders."

Nogura rarely smiled, but he almost beamed at his Russian  
colleague. Now he knew he had the group where he wanted them.  
He leaned forward in his chair. "Actually, gentlemen, I do have an  
interim measure for the *Enterprise* in mind ...."

The others looked at him expectantly. Even Mendez would  
accept almost any suggestion that would get him off the hook.

"The Academy wants to upgrade its space flight training  
program," Nogura began, "and they've asked us to arrange an  
opportunity for their cadets to train aboard a Constitution-class  
starship. Naturally, with only twelve starships in the fleet, that's not  
been possible to arrange. But if the *Enterprise* were to be  
available for, say, nine months prior to refitting, we could assign her  
temporarily--for a couple of academic terms--to the Academy. The  
costs would come out of the Academy's budget, which would save  
us money. The *Enterprise* crew would probably  
consider the assignment a well-earned vacation after a long tour of  
duty. And it would have important symbolic value for us."  
Abd al-Hamid looked enthusiastic. He was a former  
Starfleet instructor, and Nogura had been sure he'd support the  
idea.

"We can consider the future of the long-term mission,"  
Nogura went on smoothly, "after debrieifng, and--" he shot a look  
at Mendez, who shrank back in his chair--"*after* the designs are  
completed."

None of the six raised a dissenting voice. Nogura felt a  
small flutter of relief when Sengumba asked, "What about the  
senior officers? Surely it would waste their valuable time to keep  
them on the ship for nine months to train cadets."  
Nogura nodded, the tension ebbing from his stomach, for  
Sengumba's question fed into his next announcement as smoothly as  
if he'd planned it that way.

"I agree. Besides, all of them are overdue for promotion.  
We'll need to fill the post of Starfleet Operations when we split up  
Operations and Personnel"--that was Krasnovski's  
department--"and I think Kirk himself would be ideal for the job.  
Perhaps with the rank of Rear Admiral."

A few murmurs of surprise met his announcement, but no  
disagreement. Kirk was well-respected among the General Staff;  
Mendez and Abd al-Hamid knew and liked him personally, and  
Sengumba, Nogura's major opponent on the General Staff, had  
often his admiration for the young starship commander.  
Nogura smiled inwardly in grim satisfaction. He'd known  
they'd react this way when he'd planned his strategy: Ground Kirk,  
and call it an honor.

"In any case," Nogura continued, deceptively calm,  
"Admiral Krasnovski's department can give us its recommendations  
for the *Enterprise* officer corps ...I have just one further thought,  
and that concerns Commander Spock. I believe that he would be an  
excellent choice to head the new research center that Starfleet and  
the Department of Stellar Research are setting up on the Outer  
Rim. He is a superb administrator and a truly fine and original  
scientist. I can think of no one who's better qualified for this very  
demanding position."

Krasnovski was making hurried notes. "Excellent idea,  
Admiral, excellent," he beamed.

Mendez lifted an eyebrow in mild surprise. Nogura sensed Jose  
still felt chastised. "Why split up the best team in Starfleet?" he  
asked.

Krasnovski shot him a look of barely-concealed distaste.  
Nogura chuckled to himself. Krasnovsky was a born organization  
man, with the soul of a Soviet bureaucrat. A slogan like "the best  
team in Starfleet" had little meaning for him. If anything he  
distrusted the close interpersonal ties that often developed on long  
tours of duty. Just as Nogura did, he regarded them as potentially  
threatening to an officer's loyalty to Starfleet.

It was enough, however, to reply to Mendez, "Surely you  
will agree that Commander Spock has been overqualified for the  
position of starship First Officer for some time. I'd like to see him in  
a post that truly will challenge his considerable abilities."  
And then he smoothly directed their attention to the next  
item on the agenda.

***********************

At that moment, approximately 107.4 light years away from  
Earth, it was precisely 0628 hours ship's time on the starship  
*Enterprise.* One of the objects of the Admirals's discussion had  
arisen at his customary hour and was attempting, as was also his  
custom, to meditate. Normally he found the task easy enough. But  
this morning he was not in his own quarters, and no firepot rested  
nearby to help him focus his thoughts inward.

Moreover, he found the figure sprawled next to him on the  
bed, still deep in a happy slumber if one were to judge from the  
smiling curve of the lips, quite distracting. His companion was lying  
on his back, one leg bent, one arm across his chest and the other  
reaching vaguely out in Spock's direction. Spock had spent all night  
in the curve of that arm, and the memory of that closeness still  
lingered warm and bright, in his chest and belly and the corners of  
his mind even as he tried to concentrate.

Suddenly his companion woke up. His face softened into an  
open smile as he saw Spock looking down at him

"Thanks for staying," Kirk whispered.

Spock nodded, holding his gaze. Then, although he had not  
really planned to, he sank down to the bed again into Kirk's  
arms--stretched out full-length against him. How good it was to feel  
the sleepy early-morning softness of his body, to inhale the rich  
scent of his skin, as warm and sweet as fresh-baked bread. He felt  
such peace, such a sense of order in the universe ....

His companion stirred and reluctantly loosened his arms. "I  
suppose we'd better get up."

"I should return to my quarters."

"Stay for breakfast."

"No, it would be better if I--"

Kirk squeezed his shoulder confidently, as if to still his  
twinge of doubt. "I can think of several things I'd like to talk over  
with my First Officer over breakfast," he smiled as he rolled into a  
sitting position. "Why don't I get us both breakfast from the mess  
hall, while you see if you can find that change of clothes you  
assured me you'd never need ...."

"Very well," Spock replied, stifling a twitch of the mouth  
that threatened to become a smile.

He busied himself gathering his things together while Kirk  
showered. The change of uniform he located easily enough, though  
he had to hunt under the bed for one of his boots ... strange, he did  
not usually disrobe so carelessly .... He looked up from the floor to  
see Kirk giving him an appreciative smile as he left for the mess  
hall.

When Spock emerged from the shower, Kirk was setting  
out breakfast dishes on his desk. Spock's body was still relaxed in  
the deep physical contentment of love-making, and the pleasant  
mingling of early-morning smells enhanced his sense of well-being.

Fragrant steaming coffee and spicy tea, the warm toasty odor of hot  
buttered muffins, Jim's clean scent of fresh-cut grass and lime.... He  
noted from the corner of his eye as he brushed his hair in front of  
the mirror that both breakfasts were vegetarian, and he felt an  
irrational surge of pleasure at this small submission  
to his own preferences.

Yet as they began to eat, the unease only half submerged at  
the back of his mind began to rise again. It had been so from the  
beginning: the joy, the illogical euphoria he always felt with Kirk  
pushed those feelings of doubt out of sight for a time--and then  
they would rise again unaided.

Kirk was studying his face thoughtfully. They had joined  
minds the night before, and Kirk surely had glimpsed what was  
troubling him. It hardly would be surprising if he could guess his  
thoughts now.

"Spock something was bothering you last night, something I  
couldn't quite put my finger on ..." Kirk said at last, putting down  
his coffee cup.

Spock shook his head hesitantly, unsure how to reply.  
"Are you still ... upset ... by what happened in the Beta  
Carinae system?"

It may have been merely a guess, but Spock doubted it. He  
returned Kirk's gaze levelly and nodded.

Kirk looked at him seriously for a long moment. "What you  
did *worked.* You took a chance, but it worked. Perhaps you  
should stop castigating yourself and congratulate yourself instead."  
Spock sat stiffly, his neck rigid. "I placed the entire ship and  
crew in jeopardy."

"But you got the ship and crew--and me--to safety."

"As you would say, I was lucky."

"I thought you didn't believe in luck."

"I do believe in unforeseen random occurrences."

Kirk sighed. "Spock, we live with chance every moment of  
our lives. None of us would be on this mission if we needed the  
odds to be on our side. The important fact is that you *acted*  
correctly, regardless of our motives."

Spock put his hands on his lap; they were threatening to  
tremble. "My motive was the emotional one of disproportionate  
concern for your safety. As such, it was wrong." his voice was even  
stiffer than his rigid body.

"I know the character of your motives is extremely  
important to you--and to other Vulcans -- but that doesn't change  
the fact that you made the right decision ...."

"Jim, the character of the motivation is just as important to  
Humans. Your entire criminal code, for example ..."

"Blast it, what you did wasn't criminal!" Kirk erupted in a  
sudden flash of anger. Spock flinched. And then, his anger gone as  
suddenly as it had flared up, Kirk put his head in his hands in  
chagrin. "Spock, I'm sorry. I *know* what it means to you to act  
illogically. But if I castigated myself like that every time I took the  
risk of losing you or the ship or both--"

"You would be unable to function as ship's commander. I  
know that."

Kirk lifted his head, his chin tilted up. "I'd resign in a minute  
if I thought I couldn't handle a relationship--any relationship--and  
my command."

Spock relaxed slightly, knowing he must meet Kirk's candor  
with honesty of his own. "I consider you extraordinarily capable of  
dealing with both, and I think that is because you have your own,  
Human ways of coping with contradictory emotional imperatives.  
But perhaps the very balance you have achieved prevents you from  
understanding fully how difficult it is for me to manage the same  
conflicts."

Kirk shifted uneasily in his chair, caught off-guard by this  
insight. "Look, Spock, you're the logical Vulcan. How can you tell  
me an emotional Human can cope where you can't?"  
Spock leaned toward him as though to drive the point  
home. "I believe that you cope because your sense of responsibility  
to the ship has deep emotional roots. You are able to call on those  
strong feelings whenever you are forced to make a command  
decision with unpleasant, even tragic consequences for you. I  
believe that this is what you did, for example, when you had to let  
Edith Keeler die."

"It was *you* who kept reminding me that her death was  
logically imperative."

"Perhaps I helped by expressing the necessity in words--but  
I believe that at some level, you reached the proper emotional  
resolution by yourself--and that is what enabled you to act."  
Kirk tried to shake his head in denial, but his eyes betrayed  
that Spock's insight had hit its mark. "I'm not sure I would have,  
without your disinterested logic. Spock, dammit, that's why I  
admire you--your objectivity, your ability to control the emotions  
that lead all of us Humans, and me especially, into selfish errors...."  
"I am not sure that 'control' is the proper term," Spock told  
him. "We Vulcans *suppress* our emotions, but I am not sure that  
we *control* them."

Kirk shrugged. "Is there really any difference in practice?"  
Spock nodded slowly and emphatically. "As a Vulcan, you  
must remember, I've been trained neither to integrate logic and  
emotion, nor to balance different emotional drives against one  
another, as you are able to do."

Kirk squared his shoulders, still uncomfortable with what  
Spock was saying. "Look, Spock, it's not all that easy for me,  
either. In fact, it's one hell of a strain. Frankly, I'm looking forward  
to taking a vacation from it at the end of this mission. I know I'm  
going to enjoy the break. From making love to you one minute and  
ordering you into danger the next. From having to worry whether I  
can safely leave the ship in someone else's hands so I can spend a  
few minutes alone with you. From never having any place to go  
that's really private. If I had only my own subjective judgment to  
rely on, I might not be so sure I *am* coping."

"Yet you seem confident that you are," Spock noted.  
Kirk took another sip of coffee and shrugged. "That's what  
McCoy's psych profiles say. I've had him check them out regularly  
during the last six months."

Six months was how long they had been lovers.

Kirk put his cup down, folded his hands and continued. "Two  
weeks ago, he ran a compete Robbiana Dermal-Optic, and he said  
the results were fine. You know McCoy's always telling us it's the  
objective measure of emotional health he has. He told me he thinks  
I'm actually coping *better* with the stress of command than I did  
previously."

Spock raised an eyebrow, but he was inwardly unsurprised.  
McCoy's tests confirmed what he himself knew from his  
mind-melds with Jim. But he added, wanting to take the issue to its  
logical conclusion. "Yet you say you do feel stress because of your  
relationship with me."

Kirk thought a moment, looking down at his folded hands.  
"Yes, I do. But paradoxically, perhaps, McCoy thinks it's not a  
pathological stress. He claims it's somehow functional to my overall  
ego resolution, that balancing contradictory emotional drives is sort  
of what keeps me going. And that it's an intensification of conflicts  
I've always felt ... between caring about the people under my  
command on the one hand and needing to drive them on the other.  
He thinks I may burn out before I'm fifty, but that I'll go down in  
good emotional health." A corner of his mouth curved wryly. "I'm  
not sure that's such an enviable prognosis, but I think he's probably  
right."

Spock nodded agreement. "So do I."

Kirk raised his eyes to Spock's, suddenly curious. "Hasn't  
McCoy been running the same tests on you, Spock? Certainly, he's  
never mentioned anything amiss."

Spock paused a moment so that he could phrase his answer  
with precision. "So far as McCoy can tell, the results are within  
normal parameters. However, the tests he employs were not  
developed for Vulcans. I therefore have no assurance that his  
results are conclusive, especially when I myself do not feel that I am  
handling the situation constructively."

It was clear from the look on Kirk's expressive face that he  
realized the importance of what Spock was saying. Knowing Kirk  
was well as he did, Spock could tell that he was already, at some  
level of his mind, contemplating the full implications of what Spock  
was telling him. Yet at the same time that he was subliminally  
carrying the idea to its logical conclusion, he was also sparring with  
it, confronting it with all his natural aggressive resistance to a  
notion that stood in the way of something he deeply wanted. "Do  
you think McCoy can help you with this at all?"

  
"No." Spock's response was quick and definite. "He cannot,  
for the same reason his psychometric instruments cannot detect my  
emotional imbalance. Only a trained Vulcan healer with a Vulcan's  
telepathic abilities could diagnose and treat my dysfunction."

  
"Does that mean you *could* be treated by a Vulcan?"

  
"It is probable," Spock conceded with a slight nod. "Vulcan  
psychiatric techniques are much more effective with us than Human  
ones, since they are based on direct mental contact with the  
subconscious strata of the mind. I have concluded I must consult a  
Vulcan specialist when the mission is over."

  
Kirk's face was an uneasy mixture of hope and  
disappointment. "Does that mean ... that you'll need to spend a long  
time on Vulcan after we reach home?" he asked warily.

  
Spock shook his head. "Unlike Human psychiatry, Vulcan  
techniques are not particularly time-consuming. Our healers can  
accomplish in a month or two what would take years for a Human  
practitioner."

  
"Well, that's good to know," Kirk smiled in obvious relief.

  
"Yes. But Jim--" There was an edge of roughness, of  
anxiety in Spock's voice, "it is imperative that I achieve some  
resolution of the problem before we serve another tour of duty  
together."

Kirk sighed morosely, his face mirroring contradictory  
emotions. "I can see your logic, Spock, and I'm trying to accept it.  
But right now, the biggest question is whether there's even going to  
*be* another tour of duty."

Spock lifted his face, surprised. "I see no reason to predict  
otherwise. Our mission has been successful beyond all Starfleet's  
initial expectations."

"Well, the General Staff's got some new members now, a  
new Commanding Admiral, and they may see it differently. From  
what I've heard of Admiral Nogura, he's a Terran chauvinist who  
thinks Starfleet's only purpose is Federation security and higher  
profits for Federation corporations."

"Our report shows that our achievements on this mission  
will bring important economic and security benefits to the  
Federation in the future."

"They'll poke holes in our report."

Spock bridled. "The calculations were all made to the  
highest possible degree of certainty. The margin of error in my  
calculations is, in essence, negligible. Given the same data base, I  
do not see how ...."

Kirk smiled at him fondly. "Your mathematical modeling  
was brilliant, Spock. That's why I had the report completed and  
sent in early. I know that the work you did is fifty times better and  
more convincing than anything Nogura's staff can come up with.  
But the decision will be made on the basis of politics--not logic."

"Indeed," Spock acknowledged, raising both eyebrows this  
time.

They sat a moment in silent rapport, while Spock pondered  
the basic irrationality of Humans. Then Kirk returned to their  
original subject as they cleared the breakfast dishes and prepared to  
leave for the bridge.

"We'll talk about your problem later, Spock. I admit it's  
taking me some time to digest--" he shook his head ruefully. " I  
know that acting from emotion is shameful to a Vulcan ..."

"I am not ashamed of my feelings for you, Jim."

"I know you're not, but ..." Kirk clenched his fists as though  
trying to keep a rein on his own strong feelings. "I guess I'm a little  
surprised because I thought--I suppose, I just assumed that you'd  
finally accepted that you're half-Human, that you have Human  
emotions, and that inevitably you're going to act on those  
emotions."

"I do accept those facts, Jim. What you must understand is  
that this recognition is not the end of my problem, but the  
beginning."

************************

In the few weeks that remained before their final return to  
Earth, Kirk and Spock had little time to talk. Although every  
department's final report had been submitted well in advance, to be  
incorporated into Kirk's final report on the Five-Year Mission to  
the General Staff, Kirk refused to allow himself or the crew to  
relax. He literally prowled the ship, investigating every nook and  
cranny, seeing that all was ship-shape, that no loose ends were left  
untied.

Kirk would personally inspect every tape and micro-circuit  
of the *Enterprise* if he could, Spock thought. The crew would  
have found his attention compulsive, if Kirk had not had the gift of  
inspiring others to win his approval by meeting his own standards  
of excellence. Spock understood Kirk's anxiety. The least flaw in  
the ship's final condition might be held against him, a handy weapon  
to attack the exploratory mission itself.

Spock had never fully understood the passions that underlay  
Earth politics. In fact, he'd seen relatively little of Earth society  
during the four years he'd spent at the Academy. But he had studied  
Earth history well and had observed some of its recurring patterns.  
Just before they reached Earth orbit, he and Kirk and

McCoy had a quiet farewell-to-the-*Enterprise* dinner together,  
just the three of them, after the more "official" parties were over.  
Inevitably, the discussion turned to the changes they expected to  
find on Earth.

"When we left on this mission," McCoy reflected as he  
passed the bottle of Bordeaux to Kirk, "the people making  
decisions at headquarters were relatively open-minded--at least, as  
much as you can expect in a military person ...." He shot a baleful  
look at Kirk, who grinned back cheerfully. "From what I've heard,  
it's just the opposite now. The new people in the Admiralty are  
more interested in increasing a photon torpedo's range by some  
fraction of a light-year than in meeting a life form we don't know  
about. And aliens--might as well forget about it. They're Terran  
chauvinists."

"Not all of them, Bones," said Kirk, picking up a warm  
dinner roll. "Jose Mendez is on the General Staff now, you know."

McCoy's gaze turned to one of disapproval as he watched  
Kirk spread butter on his roll. Kirk cheerfully ignored him.  
Spock cut in frostily. "Doctor, the flaw in your analysis is  
that you focus on personalities rather than underlying historical and  
social processes." He knew that what McCoy was saying was true;  
the current Starfleet leadership was unsympathetic to aliens. And  
when he examined his own motivation, he suspected that perhaps it  
was easier for him to face this unpalatable truth if he could place it  
in an impersonal context. "The recent intensification of negative  
attitudes toward aliens has obvious economic roots."  
McCoy began to retort sarcastically, but Kirk, eyes  
twinkling in anticipation of an entertaining sparring match,  
forestalled him. "Explain, Spock."

"Students of your history," Spock replied, setting down his  
fork and smoothing the napkin on his lap, "have noted a pervasive  
relationship between politics and economics. On the upswing of an  
economic cycle, Humans tend to be expansive, tolerant, and  
optimistic--reflecting the abundance of economic opportunities for  
all. On the downswing of the cycle, Humans are pessimistic,  
conservative, protective of themselves and those they consider their  
'own kind.'" His ironic tone placed verbal brackets around the last  
phrase.

"Are you trying to rationalize prejudice, Mr. Spock?"  
McCoy needled him. "Just seems to me some people are prejudiced,  
others not. Sometimes I think folks are just *born* prejudiced.  
Don't see what economics has to do with it. You don't hate another  
person with that credit chip inside your belt, Spock."

"No, but it is illogical, even for a Human, to feel prejudice  
for no reason," Spock replied evenly. "Prejudice arises from  
self-interest, and from fear of competition with outsiders."

"I think that's true, Bones," Kirk added, putting down his  
wine glass. "The five-year mission was launched in a period of  
economic prosperity--full employment, high productivity, plenty of  
opportunity. Industry supported the mission-- because they believed  
we would discover new investment opportunities as well as new  
life. And Spock's right--the economic situation--especially on  
Earth--*has* changed radically during the last few years. Business  
isn't expanding, and people are out of work. I think that's why we'll  
find that a lot of the support for space exploration has evaporated."

"Well, you're probably right, but I was taught that economic  
cycles are a relic of history," McCoy replied, attacking his salad.

"Maybe you-all developed an interest in them when you visited the  
Great Depression of the 1930s, thanks to my antics with the  
Guardian of Forever."

"Hardly the most serious economic depression in Earth  
history, Bones," Kirk said mildly. "Twenty years after the Eugenics  
War, for example ...."

"All right, all right," McCoy rested his salad fork in mild  
exasperation. "I'm a doctor, not a historian. I just thought we'd  
learned to avoid those kinds of extreme economic dislocations."  
Spock spoke up politely. "It is true that your Earth, and the  
worlds it is linked to economically, have overcome stark poverty,  
unemployment and massive social dislocation as effects of business  
cycles. Nevertheless, your economy seems to rely on unending  
expansion as a source of prosperity for all. When expansion halts,  
prosperity declines."

The three men were interrupted temporarily by the arrival of  
the main course. "Well, I suppose that some adjustments are always  
necessary in any system based on free enterprise," McCoy said  
complacently when they resumed their conversation. "But we  
Humans, unlike you Vulcans, feel uncomfortable in a rigidly  
controlled economy. We value our freedom in economic matters as  
we do in all other areas of life."

Spock favored the ship's doctor with a glacial Vulcan stare.  
"The paradox,  
more subject to those forces than you would be if you engaged in  
deliberate planning."

Kirk leaned back, heartily enjoying the fray.

"Well, I don't know about *that,* McCoy retorted, "But in  
any case, Mr. Spock, how do you fit the New Humans into your  
analysis? They're not chauvinistic or anti-alien, and they've become  
very powerful politically since we left Earth, even part of the  
governing Coalition now. How do you account for that?"  
Spock gave a shrug full of Vulcan superiority. "The New  
Humans have no desire to participate in the established Earth  
economy at all, Doctor. They have their own unique form of social  
and economic organization; therefore, aliens are not a threat to  
them."

"And *they're* not a threat to the other people in power,"  
Kirk pointed out, pulling his chair closer to the table to attack the  
main course. "Which gives them a logical community of interest  
with the Federation Party. The Federationists want to keep the  
status quo--no further peace initiatives with the Klingons and other  
non-Federation powers--and the New Humans have their own  
reasons for wanting to leave well enough alone."

"I believe that is the logic behind the formation of the  
Coalition," Spock concurred.

"It's also significant," Kirk said reflectively, toying with his  
fork, "that the New Humans have a basically passive, unworldly  
attitude toward society. That's all right with the Federationists. The  
New Humans feel the individual really doesn't matter in the larger  
scheme of things, so they have little interest in social reforms  
designed to benefit individuals."

"A logical position, given their assumptions," Spock  
nodded.

"Well, they seem like strange bedfellows to me," McCoy  
muttered glumly. "A bunch of crazy mystics aligned with industry  
and the military. And speaking of bedfellows--" he added, casting a  
meaningful look at Kirk, who blushed, divining what was on his  
mind, "have you given any thought to how you'll present your ...  
relationship ... to Starfleet?"

Kirk rubbed his chin in a gesture of embarrassment. "We  
don't need to "present" them with anything, Bones. Legally, it's  
absolutely none of their business.And you know as well as I do that  
Starfleet doesn't really give a damn who goes to bed with whom, as  
long as they don't do it on the job."  
McCoy stared at him balefully. "Well, those are the rules,  
but people tend to be very curious about these things, and a lot of  
people aren't as open-minded as you, Jim."

"I plan to deal with it the same way we do here on the  
*Enterprise,* Kirk shrugged. "Not advertise it, not keep it a secret  
either."

McCoy took a long sip of his drink. "At least the part about  
its not being a secret is correct."

Kirk stopped in the middle of raising his fork to his mouth  
and looked at McCoy in genuine surprise. "Bones, I doubt that  
anyone besides you, Scotty and maybe Uhura even knows.  
Hand-holding in public just isn't our style."

"Tell that to the people I hear gossiping in my waiting  
room."

Kirk's eyes widened in disbelief and he stared at McCoy for  
a few moments. "Of course," he finally admitted, folding his hands  
in his lap, "I may have to discuss it with Operations and Personnel,  
just in case their computer decides to assign us to opposite ends of  
the galaxy." His expression suggested that he considered this an  
extremely remote possibility.

"I wonder if that would be wise," McCoy murmured. "I  
have a feeling you'll find quite a few people at Headquarters who  
are not going to be too supportive of your relationship."

Kirk looked surprised, but he continued eating and made no  
comment.

Spock realized he'd been holding his breath for several  
minutes. He let it out unobtrusively. He knew that McCoy spoke  
out of deep concern for his two best friends. But the doctor's words  
felt like a lead weight dropped to the bottom of his stomach, for he  
knew McCoy was right.

Jim was looking at McCoy thoughtfully, turning over what  
he was saying in his mind. As he looked at Kirk's expressive face,  
Spock realized with a start what bothered him most about the  
conversation: that the possibility of conflict between their  
relationship and Starfleet was something Jim was only now  
beginning to consider.

********************************

The ride from the debarkation point was short, but it gave  
Nogura a chance to scrutinize James Kirk more closely than had  
been possible in the glare of the debarkation ceremony, where he  
had been on hand to greet the senior officers of the *Enterprise* as  
they'd stepped out of the shuttlecraft *Columbus.*

Some of the crowd's roar still echoed in Nogura's ears, even  
in the plush silence of the smooth-riding aircar. Kirk seemed  
strangely subdued, almost distant. Nogura had the odd sense that

Kirk was not aware that the excitement was in his honor.  
The Commanding Admiral made small talk as an excuse to  
study Kirk's face. He had met him briefly years ago, just after he'd  
been chosen to head the five-year exploratory mission; but he  
remembered him only as a rather serious, clean-cut, astonishingly  
youthful officer with an unusually brilliant record. He speculated  
about the experiences that had produced the changes he noted. The  
straight back and strong jaw were the same, of course. But now  
Nogura could see subtle, complicated lines he was sure had not  
been there before. The sensitive curve of the mouth, the candid eyes  
with hints of hidden depths--Kirk's face betrayed the sort of  
commander he had become. A leader who led by the gift of grace,  
by touching others' souls.

Instinctively, Nogura distrusted charisma. He had always  
seen clearly that Starfleet's business was defense. The Fleet needed  
hard-headed strategists and clever tacticians. Kirk was both, but he  
was also a dreamer and a visionary--too much so for Nogura's  
comfort.

And yet, because Nogura was a realist, he knew that the  
masses on whom Starfleet's fortunes depended wanted more than  
effective strategy and sound military tactics. To the soft-headed, the  
rule of force was an unpalatable truth that had to be disguised with  
slogans and symbolism. The man beside him had become the most  
important symbol in Starfleet, and Nogura had no intention of  
wasting him on space exploration. Kirk had all the attributes of a  
perfect figurehead: He was attractive, personally magnetic, and had  
a record of heroics that stretched from here to Alpha Centauri.  
Nogura *had* to have Kirk in the Admiralty. Not because he was  
the best person for the job, although he'd do it well enough. But  
because Nogura had to coopt him, use him, make him into  
Starfleet's "noble lie." And through him, placate the peacemongers  
and the ignorant.

They had not spoken for several minutes, and Kirk did not  
seem disposed to break the silence. Nogura asked him, "Are you  
surprised to see how popular you've become, Captain?"  
Kirk turned and gave him a small smile of dismissal. "I don't  
flatter myself that the reception was in recognition of me  
personally, Admiral. It simply shows how deeply Humans have  
responded to the five-year mission. I believe that most Humans find  
the discovery of other life forms--different from ourselves yet at  
least as highly evolved or more so--extremely exciting."

"Captain, I think you're going to discover that most  
Federation citizens have come to identify the five-year mission with  
you personally. It's a necessary shorthand for the average person,  
the person who has no time to follow the technical complexities of  
the scientific discoveries you made, or even follow your exploits in  
the Federation Times science section.  
"One doesn't have to understand the physiology and  
molecular structure of a different life form to appreciate its  
philosophical and moral significance for Humans," Kirk replied  
mildly.

"Philosophical? Moral?! Nogura chuckled with mock  
heartiness. "You give your admirers far too much credit, Jim."

"I don't think so," Kirk replied with an enigmatic smile.  
Nogura was taken aback. He had counted on using Kirk's  
own vanity to lure him into the gilded cage. Clearly, this was a  
more complex man than he had expected. "Well, we'll test our  
hypotheses when we watch the news broadcasts tonight," the  
admiral concluded with forced humor.

They touched down after that, and it was not until after a  
short meeting to confirm the debriefing schedule that Nogura had a  
chance to steer Kirk away from his officers. The closeness of the  
group was almost tangible, Nogura noted with disapproval: an  
inevitable result of living and working together in close quarters.

"My wife and I are having dinner for the other members of  
the General Staff tonight, Jim," he told Kirk was soon as he found a  
moment to have a word alone with him. "If you're free, we'd like  
very much if you could attend."

"I'd be happy to, Admiral," Kirk said politely.

"Good! Bring a companion, if you'd like--it'll be mostly  
couples, the members of the General Staff and their spouses, and a  
few others--my wife likes to have an even number at table ..."  
Nogura trailed off awkwardly, remembering with a touch of  
embarrassment that Kirk was not married.

"I'd like to bring my First Officer, if I may,"  
Nogura's embarrassment turned to surprise. "Spock?" he  
asked.

Kirk nodded, his clear eyes showing no sign that he thought  
the request unusual.

Nogura was nonplussed. He thought of his wife' reaction,  
how upset she'd be at having to round up the ingredients for a  
Vulcan meal on such short notice. It was bad enough, having to  
accommodate Promila Rao and er husband and their Brahmin  
taboos. Why the Vulcan? Nevertheless, he forced himself to nod  
with a warmth he did not feel, "Why, of course ... We'll expect you  
at 1930, then."

**********************

Spock listened to the ring of Kirk's firm footsteps on the  
flagstones of the Noguras' vestibule. He had not been enthusiastic  
about attending. In his experience, Humans tended to have little  
serious discussion at social gatherings, and the quality of the  
conversation tended to deteriorate in inverse relation to the  
consumption of alcohol. Nevertheless, he was curious to learn more  
about the new Commanding Admiral and the other members of the  
Admiralty staff. And besides, Kirk had wanted his company.

The apartment was large, a two-story penthouse  
overlooking the bay. The furnishings (and the rooms Spock could  
see definitely were overfurnished) were lush and florid. The  
embroidered upholstery, the gold leaf trim on the elaborately, if  
somewhat artificially, carved wood were all too ornate for his taste.

Nogura's wife Mai emerged from somewhere and greeted  
them politely. The relative warmth she managed for Kirk did not  
carry over to Spock. He had the impression that her reserves of  
hospitality had been somewhat depleted by the other guests. He  
wondered briefly if she were forced to entertain often because of  
her husband's position. If so, she probably resented the illogical  
intrusion on her time; and Spock knew that Humans did not always  
respond to illogical demands with a logical refusal.

She showed them the bar, poured Spock some fruit juice  
and got Kirk a glass of bourbon on the rocks. Spock was conscious  
of conversations stopping and eyes turning around them until a  
glance of acknowledgment from Kirk released them. Spock  
recognized most of the members of the General Staff, and a few  
other staff officers, most of them commodores and vice-admirals. A  
slim, large-eyed young woman wearing commodore's stripes came  
up and introduced herself as Lori Ciani, a member of Nogura's staff.  
She glanced at Spock with mild curiosity, but her luminous eyes  
were riveted on Kirk.

Kirk had scarcely had time to return her introduction when  
Jose Mendez appeared out of nowhere, and Kirk's face lit up in  
undisguised pleasure. "Jose!"  
"Jim!"

Lori Ciani faded back unobtrusively as the two men greeted  
each warmly. Spock decided not to join the conversation with  
Mendez. The two were old friends, and he suspected that Mendez  
might want to have a private conversation with Jim about General  
Staff politics. His suspicion was confirmed when Mendez steered  
Kirk out the glass doors to the large terrace. Spock sat down on the  
nearest sofa and proceeded to drink his juice.

He found himself sitting near a middle-aged woman with an  
imperious, aquiline profile and an Admiral's uniform; Spock  
recognized her as Admiral Promila Rao. The man seated nearby,  
with cream-colored skin and features as finely chiseled as those of  
an Indian statue, was undoubtedly her husband. Spock searched his  
memory briefly and placed him as a powerful Bombay industrialist.

They exchanged introductions politely and the couple  
welcomed Spock into their conversation, which seemed to concern  
a pet project of Admiral Rao's. She advocated setting up a network  
of photon-warhead missiles on the Federation outposts nearest the  
Klingon sphere of influence. She described in some detail where she  
thought the missiles might be located, and asked Spock his opinion,  
knowing that he had visited that sector himself. Her familiarity with  
the region's topography was impressive, but Spock thought the plan  
at best unnecessary, at worst, highly provocative. He told her so.

"The scheme inevitably would appear aggressive to the  
Klingons," Spock said, his voice mild but firm, "since its only  
conceivable purpose would be offense. It will not protect the  
security of any of the Federation worlds; that goal is far better  
served by the existing system of orbital defense satellites."

Rao dismissed the objection with a wave of her  
long-fingered, aristocratic hand. "Ah, Mr. Spock, the best defense  
is surely a strong first-strike capability. As you know, we are  
currently in the process of redesigning our overall galactic strategy  
to emphasize *deterrence.*" She said the word with a kind of  
emphatic satisfaction as though she thought it had a force all its  
own.

"I know," Spock acknowledged with a slight nod, "but the  
new strategy does not yet have Council approval."

Rao gave him a sharp look, glancing at his Vulcan features  
as though she blamed him personally for the presence of two  
Vulcans in the Federation Council, both of whom were quite certain  
to vote against her proposal.

"In any case," Spock continued politely, "a purely defensive  
posture has served the Federation well in the past. Shifting to a  
strategy based on deterrence would suggest to non-Federation  
worlds that we are adopting an aggressive, even an expansionist  
foreign policy." Rao's husband shifted in his chair, a frown  
marring his ivory-smooth skin. "It is the *Klingons* who are  
aggressive and expansionist. And sadly--" a hint of disdain shaded  
his cultivated voice, as though he were expressing disappointment  
at the failings of lesser mortals--"we have allowed them to get  
ahead of us in preparedness. We have a lot of making up to do, and  
we must now be prepared to counter force with force."

Spock's eyebrows rose in surprise. "The Klingons have been  
quite scrupulous in observing the terms of the Organian Peace  
Treaty during the last several years. I see no reason to provoke  
them needlessly."

As they were at an impasse, Rao herself changed the subject  
and proceeded to ask Spock a stream of questions about the  
*Enterprise's* experiences in battle during the last five years. She  
was quite knowledgeable about their encounters with the Klingons,  
and she pressed him exhaustively for more details. In fact, it was  
the only subject she queried him on. Their discoveries on other  
worlds seemed not to interest her at all. And she seemed unaware,  
or uncaring, that the odds of any Vulcan's being an enthusiast of  
war strategy were practically nonexistent.

He was quite relieved when they were called to the table  
and Jim and Jose Mendez came back from the balcony--relieved,  
that is, until he saw the fighting look in Kirk's eyes, which Kirk  
quickly stifled as they approached the dinner table. Bad news?  
Spock wondered with a twinge of apprehension in his stomach.  
Dinner was an awkward experience for Spock. He and Kirk  
did not fit into the Noguras' seating arrangements, which alternated  
men and women. Spock felt rather like a fifth wheel.

Most of the conversation at table concerned investments,  
Federation corporations' merger plans, and military strategy. Kirk's  
charm and Spock's own impeccable good manners carried them  
through he evening, but Spock was glad when finally they were able  
to make their excuses over brandy that it had been a long day and  
by their ship's time it was now almost one a.m.

Spock felt the tension radiating from Kirk as they entered  
the lift. But it was not until they reached the ground floor and  
started walking back to the officers' complex that he spoke.

"I'm sorry I abandoned you to Admiral Rao, Spock," Kirk  
said as they walked briskly across the paved courtyard to the  
building where Starfleet was housing them temporarily. "Jose  
wanted to brief me on the dynamics among the General Staff and  
the options they've been discussing. The news isn't good." His  
words were clipped, his voice grim.

"The Admiralty has decided against renewing the five-year  
mission," Spock guessed at once.

"Not just yet," Kirk answered shortly. "Nogura would like  
to scrap it, but doesn't have enough support in the General Staff to  
bring it to a vote. But he has gotten them to postpone refitting the  
ship."

"Oh?" Spock fully appreciated the ability of Human  
bureaucrats indefinitely to postpone deciding to do something they  
preferred not to do at all.

"Nogura claims to have found some last-minute glitch in the  
phaser bank design. Jose regards it as a trumped up excuse." Kirk  
tossed his head in a gesture that told Spock Kirk was inclined to  
agree with Mendez. "Apparently he pulled this idea out of the hat at  
a staff meeting when some of the other Admirals began pressing  
him to announce a renewal of the five-year mission. The result was  
they agreed to wait until the new designs are completed before the  
issue is decided."

Spock knew that the redesign and refitting of Starfleet's  
Constitution-class starships was a critical first step before another  
five-year exploratory mission could be launched. It was illogical,  
and probably unsafe, to send any of the Fleet's starships on a  
long-term assignment far from home without upgrading to state of  
the art standards. "How long is the postponement?"

"Probably nine months at least--and you know when they  
say nine months it could easily mean fifteen.. And the refitting itself  
is more extensive that we originally were told. It could take six  
months in dry dock. Spock, it could mean nearly two years in  
limbo!"

They were entering the officers' complex now, and Spock  
could see Kirk's shoulders tighten as he clenched his fists in  
frustration. "I'm sure they have plans for us in the interim," Spock  
offered as they rode the lift to their floor. Almost automatically, he  
followed Kirk to Kirk's flat and waited while Kirk let them in.

"Nothing official yet," Kirk frowned. Spock could see the  
tension in the muscles of his jaw as they walked toward the living  
room. "But the odds of Starfleet's giving us a temporary assignment  
for a year and a half or so and then shifting us back to the  
*Enterprise* are--"

Almost automatically, Spock opened his mouth to offer an  
estimate, but a quick look from Kirk forestalled him.

"In fact," Kirk said with a taut sigh as they sat down on the  
sofa together, "the General Staff *has* discussed where they are  
going to reassign us."

The tone in Kirk's voice sent a chill down Spock's throat to  
settle in his stomach. "And what have they discussed?" he asked  
hollowly.

Kirk leaned back against the sofa cushions, trying to relax  
the tension that stiffened his back and shoulders, then gave up and  
leaned forward, his hands on his knees, and stared grimly at Spock.  
"You, to a head a research station on the Outer Rim. Me--a  
staff assignment."

Spock felt as though he had been hit in the stomach. "I shall  
refuse, of course," was all he said.

"If they let you," Kirk said morosely.

Spock met Kirk's eyes cautiously. "The staff assignment  
they have in mind .... I assume that would involve a significant  
elevation in your rank?" Commodore at the very least, Spock  
thought. Perhaps even Vice-Admiral.

"The Admiralty," Kirk said shortly, "They want me to head  
a new department, Starfleet Operations, that will be created when  
they split Operations and Personnel into separate departments." His  
face was tight, closed, as though he hadn't noticed the mixture of  
pleasure and surprise on Spock's face.

Yet Spock knew Kirk too well not to know that he was  
flattered by the prospect of a three-step jump in rank. Cautiously,  
he tried to sort out his own contradictory reactions.

"What do you see as our options?"  
Kirk straightened his shoulders and took a deep breath.

"Well, the first choice I'm going to have to make is whether to  
accept the Staff position. As long as the *Enterprise* is in dry dock  
and doesn't need a commander, that will be damned hard to do. I'm  
going to have to lobby for some other assignment, something  
temporary enough that I can leave it when the *Enterprise* is ready  
to go out again."

Spock struggled to keep his face from betraying his feelings.  
He knew better than to be disappointed, but he found himself  
wishing that Kirk's vanity resembled the standard Human variety  
more closely. Most Humans would leap at the offer of the second  
highest job in the command hierarchy.

If Spock's disappointment showed in his face, Kirk hadn't  
noticed.

"Fortunately, Jose also told me the Staff has decided to assign the  
*Enterprise* temporarily to the Academy while she's awaiting the  
refit. The idea is to use her to give cadets some actual space flight  
training on a starship. The fact that it's the *Enterprise* will have  
all sort of symbolic value, raise morale, please the cadets' parents,  
increase alumni contributions ... well, you get the picture." Kirk  
waved his hands dismissively.

"And if you were to offer to head the program ...." Spock  
guess where Jim's thoughts were heading.

"They would be too embarrassed to turn me down!" Kirk  
finished with a grim smile of satisfaction.

"Highly logical," Spock nodded, enjoying the flush of  
appreciation that spread over Kirk's face.

"And of course," Kirk continued, "I'll insist that my former  
first officer join me as second in command. Then, when the ship is  
in dry dock, we can tackle the issue of the next five year mission."  
Spock acknowledged the plan's merits with a brief nod, but  
he was dubious. "Jim, we may have some influence--perhaps not as  
much as you think--over where we shall be assigned next, but we  
have very little say in whether or not the exploratory missions will  
be continued. Unless, of course, you do decide to become a  
member of the Admiralty."

Kirk ignored the last suggestion, and Spock guessed that he  
hadn't yet thought seriously about the job Mendez had told him was  
about to be offered to him. Kirk leaned back on the sofa and sighed.  
He was tired, and perhaps this was rather a lot to take in all at once,  
even for him. But he snapped back with most of his normal  
intensity.

"You saw the parade today, Spock. The *Enterprise*  
mission was wildly popular, beyond anything Starfleet's ever been  
linked with in the public eye. Plainly, we have public support on our  
side. And according to Jose, we have a reasonable amount of inside  
the General Staff. We may wind up having a knock-down, drag-out  
fight with Nogura, but it's one we have a decent chance of  
winning."

As McCoy would say, Kirk's Irish was up. He'd take on the  
entire Starfleet bureaucracy if that would get him what he wanted.  
Spock was more cautious. "What if your plan does not succeed?"  
he pressed.

Kirk shrugged. "I'll try whatever will keep me in command  
of a starship. Refuse the promotion to Admiral, if that's what it  
takes. Meanwhile, we have to make sure they don't succeed in  
shipping you off to the Outer Rim."

Sensing Spock's skepticism, Kirk reached out and put his  
hands on his First Officer's shoulders, making an effort to erase the  
fatigue and frustration from his own face with a smile. "In any  
event, we can't do any more about it tonight." He massaged the  
area around Spock's shoulder blades gently. His eyes softened in  
concern as his fingers probed the taut muscles, stiff with anxiety.

And then Kirk added, almost shyly, "Uh, Spock ... could  
you stay tonight?"

They were still so reticent about love-making. But outside  
of work, they had scarcely seen each other during the rush of the  
last three weeks, and Spock knew that Kirk must be even hungrier  
for intimacy than he was. He nodded, his body gradually relaxing  
under Kirk's hands, and he felt a small thrill of anticipation when  
Kirk responded with a look of undisguised pleasure. "I shall go to  
my flat for a few items first," he said, and Kirk released him happily.  
Spock's flat was only a few doors down the hall, and when  
he returned, Jim was undressing in the bathroom. Spock took off  
his own clothes, laid them on a chair, looked up and caught his  
breath sharply as Jim came out of the bathroom, carrying a towel.  
Naked, Kirk exuded power and energy. He was already  
erect--Spock had observed that it took very little direct stimulation  
to bring Kirk to that state. He mused about the cliche he'd heard so  
often, that the uniform of the Fleet lent a man authority he did not  
otherwise possess. He did not think it applied to Jim. Quite the  
opposite, in fact. Jim's authority was highly personal, with its roots  
in his own primal, sexual magnetism. Unclad, he was if anything  
more commanding than he  
was in uniform.

Kirk walked toward the bed, looking quizzically at Spock.  
"What's funny?"

"I was wondering how effective you would be, commanding  
a starship without your uniform."

"You mean dressed like this?" Kirk dropped the towel on  
the bed and spread his arms and legs wide, displaying himself. Heat  
flushed through Spock's genitals, and he noted that he, too, could  
become erect without any direct tactile stimulation.

"Do you have a theory you would like to test on the  
bridge?" Kirk persisted, obviously amused by Spock's odd train of  
thought. "Maybe the next time a red alert catches us like this?  
'Course, then you'd have to participate, too."

He smiled, a smile that made Spock's heart turn upside  
down, and Spock knew his eyes must betray the thrilling surge of  
desire that smile made him feel. He reached out and grasped Kirk's  
arms and pulled him over to the bed.

They dimmed the lights and lay down together. The sudden  
shock of Jim's closeness, the feel of his compact, energetic body  
against his own made Spock's pulse accelerate. It was still strange  
to hold Jim like this, to cover his body with his own, and the  
experienced not only aroused him sexually but had all the  
new-minted excitement of a paradigm-shattering scientific  
discovery. Their minds had been close before their bodies were. But  
finally to have consummated that inchoate longing he'd held in for  
so long ... it was wonderful, breathtaking, terrifying.

Jim was stroking his back gently, sending cool waves of  
pleasure over his skin. Tentatively, Spock began to explore his  
partner's body. With precise, delicate fingers he touched the  
powerful shoulders, the fleshiness of the chest, the taut muscles of  
the outer thighs. Wanting more, he slipped his hands between Kirk's  
legs, enjoying the feel of the smooth, silken threads under his hand,  
the lush softness of the inner thighs. He touched the plump sac,  
explored its odd textures, pressed the two spheres within their  
envelope of flesh, felt them slip away and evade his gentle search.

Kirk twisted away, afraid he would be aroused too suddenly.  
Spock removed his hand and looked at Jim--in the half light  
he could see that his lips were already swollen with desire. Jim  
propped his head on an elbow and scrutinized him in return. In Jim's  
eyes, Spock could see the reflection of how he must look to  
Jim--tousled and slightly breathless.

Jim's mouth was beginning to curve in amusement, and  
Spock leaned back, prepared to be teased. His body was taut with  
desire and he yearned for sexual consummation, but he understood  
Jim's need for the intimacy of play.

"Why, Mr. Spock, I believe you're actually beginning to  
enjoy this."

Spock looked down at him and raised an eyebrow. "And  
what had you considered my previous motivation to be?"

"Oh, I don't know," Kirk smiled. "Human indulgence  
perhaps. Or indulgence of Humans ...."

"You think that I am merely indulging you?" Spock took  
Jim's hand, threaded his fingers through his own, and bent his hand  
back in mock-warning.

Kirk's eyes twinkled with mischief. "Wouldn't it be more  
Vulcan to limit our relationship to a Platonic meeting of minds?"

"Negative," Spock shook his head firmly, "even if you are  
using the term 'Platonic' correctly, which I rather doubt ... and as I  
have often told you, sexual relations between Vulcans raise the  
level of energy available for the mind meld, making possible a  
deeper joining of minds."

"And that's the only reason you want it," Kirk teased.

"Of course," Spock shrugged nonchalantly.

"Well, forgive me, Mr. Spock, but I've found it hard to  
distinguish your Vulcan sexuality from my Human sexuality at  
times. Somehow they seem to lead to the same result."

Spock dropped Kirk's hand suddenly. "We could, of course,  
meld without physical contact if you would prefer ...."

"Oh, no, I don't think I'd necessarily prefer that ...."

The heat in his belly made Spock suddenly very impatient.  
"I think this discussion could more constructively be continued at a  
later time," was the last thing he said before Kirk pulled his head  
down to the bed and rolled over on top of him.

Jim kissed his earlobe softly, nuzzled his neck, and dropped  
two velvet kisses on his eyes, closing them. He grasped Spock's  
face in both hands and then his mouth was on Spock's, his tongue  
thrusting against Spock's, joining them flesh to flesh.

They caressed each other's chests and bellies as they kissed.  
Spock could have lain there with Kirk's tongue in his mouth, tasting  
the sweet liquor of him, forever. But Jim broke the kiss and loved  
his way down Spock's body until he lay between his legs. He inched  
his way up to the swollen cock and took it in his mouth in a single  
swift movement. As Jim sucked, Spock's mind and body blazed  
with pleasure. Astonishing how that cool mouth could pull him into  
a white-hot vortex of need that went far beyond sexual yearning.

Jim finally released his cock and moaned softly, with a  
vulnerability that made Spock's heart swell with tenderness. He  
rolled off of Spock and lay on his back, his mouth swollen, his body  
arched in a tense agony of desire. Something in the curve of Jim's  
neck, his head thrown back upon the pillow, and the innocent  
sweep of the lashes over the fine bones of his cheek touched a  
fathomless chord in Spock. And some dark god of Eros rose up in  
his breast, transforming tenderness into passion in a swift and total  
metamorphosis. He gripped Jim's face in his hands and kissed him  
again, fiercely, thrusting his tongue deep into his mouth in a sudden  
yearning for possession.

Jim met his embrace, strength for strength and need for  
need. When they finally separated, Jim touched his cheek, a silent  
answer in his eyes. Spock buried his face in Jim's neck wordlessly.  
Beneath him, Jim spread his legs and bent his knees, giving Spock  
access to his iron-hard cock. Spock gripped the taut organ with  
strong fingers, enjoying Kirk's sharp breathless gasps of pleasure in  
response. He bent his head first to one nipple, then the other, then  
wormed his way down the bed and sucked Kirk's cock, hard, until

Kirk begged him to stop.  
Spock knew what Jim wanted. He lifted his head and looked  
toward the table at the side of the bed, wondering if Jim had put the  
lubricant anywhere nearby. Kirk shook his head and pulled Spock  
back up toward him. "I already prepared myself," he whispered. He  
opened his legs and drew them up, as though to make his meaning  
clear.

Spock needed no clarification. His body left him no choice  
when Kirk lay down for him like that. He centered his hard cock  
and held himself to try to make the entry gentle, but after Kirk's  
small gasp of discomfort ended he let go helplessly and simply  
thrust.

Kirk grasped Spock's buttocks, and tried to pull him even  
closer.. "More," he whispered tensely. "Deeper." He twisted  
beneath Spock, and Spock knew he wanted his cock to press and  
rub against the place that gave the most pleasure. He sank even  
deeper into Kirk, and Kirk moaned, letting go of Spock's ass and  
reaching for his hand, pulling his fingers toward the meld points.

Spock positioned his hand on Kirk's face and the meld flared  
to life between them. He felt the melting agony of Kirk's pleasure,  
how he craved Spock's hard thrusts, the deep gratification he felt  
from being filled with Spock. He felt the glow of Kirk's satisfaction  
when his cock found the small spot that gave him special pleasure.

And underlying the heat of desire he felt the soaring feeling of being  
"in love," the sense of bright wings beating through his mind--a  
Human feeling, but not very different from his own. And at an even  
deeper level than that, he experienced Jim's strength, integrity and  
deep commitment to him, like a bottomless well whose depths he  
could not plumb, not even in the mind meld.

Finally Kirk shuddered under him, and almost in the same  
moment Spock's own orgasm spread up from his belly to the  
quivering fingertips pressed against Kirk's temple and down to the  
tips of his toes. "T'hy'la," he gasped, clinging tightly to the perfect  
moment.

Kirk lay flat on his back, breathless. Spock laid his head  
down on his chest. He had come a lot. They both had.  
As if he'd read his mind, Kirk sat up, mopped them both  
with the towel, then rolled off the bed and padded off to the kitchen  
to get them something to drink. For Spock's desert-based  
physiology, ejaculation could be genuinely dehydrating. Spock  
watched Jim silently, loving the grace with which he moved. Jim's  
face was relaxed and slightly flushed, his skin glowing. "It is merely  
the effect of dilation of the blood vessels," he told himself, "Yet it is  
quite pleasing aesthetically."

He felt the lush aura, the sense of peace, that hung in the air  
after they had been to bed together. As a mental exercise, he tried  
to analyze it into its component parts. The softly lighted room, the  
companionable silence between them, the tinkle of glasses in the  
kitchen. Jim's face, calm and happy as he assembled glasses and  
pitcher. The scene of Jim's body that clung to his own like  
sun-warmed grass. The feeling of utter repose, the fruit of orgasm,  
as though every muscle in his body had been turned inside out.  
Jim returned with the pitcher, handed him a glass, and got  
back into bed. Pushing the pillows behind him, he pulled Spock up  
to half-sit beside him. Spock leaned against his shoulder  
contentedly, silently, Jim's arm around his back.

Jim pulled away slightly to look at him, to savor the sight of  
his austere, composed features, then pulled him back and stroked  
his sleek hair, traced the line of an eyebrow with gentle fingers.

Spock was too sleepy to sit up any longer. He leaned across  
Jim, put his glass down, then sank back against his chest. Jim  
disposed of his own glass and pulled them both down beneath the  
covers. Spock slipped his arm around him and a protective leg over  
his for good measure. If there was a contest to see who would fall  
asleep first, Jim had probably already won.

Spock's last waking thought was an odd but increasingly  
familiar mixture of joy and regret. The closer he and Jim became,  
the more he regretted that they would probably never know the  
most profound, and profoundly Vulcan, mating with each other.  
But he put the thought out of his mind. He would not impose his  
own culture's values on Kirk. What they had was deep and  
satisfying enough. If they could keep it, he would never want  
anything else.

********************

Early the next morning, Admiral Igor Krasnovsky of  
Personnel Services received a call from James T. Kirk. His aide had  
tried to divert the call as per the Admirals' standing instructions, but  
Kirk was impossibly stubborn, and with a sigh he opened the  
transmission. Kirk wanted a very short meeting with him during the  
break in the debriefing sections that he promised would take not  
more than five minutes. Krasnovsky thought of excuses to put him  
off, but Kirk had a reputation for boundless persistence, and  
instinct told him it would be easier to meet with the  
*Enterprise* commander than put him off.

Promptly at 1015 hours, Kirk's holographic image solidified  
in his office. The young captain's voice was amiable and his manner  
low-key and apologetic. "Admiral, I hope you don't mind my asking  
about the status of the *Enterprise* refit and your plans for my  
crew. It's just that they are asking me questions that I can't answer,  
and I though you could help me know what I should say to them."

"Ah--yes," Krasnovsky hemmed and hawed. He tried to be  
indefinite as he could, but under Kirk's delicate but probing  
questions, he finally decided there was no harm in telling him about  
the postponement of the *Enterprise* refit and the Academy  
assignment.

He wasn't prepared for Kirk's response. He'd expected  
impatience and annoyance. Instead, Kirk appeared to be pleased  
with the news. "I'm sure the crew will be as honored as I am to hear  
that the *Enterprise* has been chosen for the assignment, Admiral,"  
the captain said suavely. "And what shall I tell them concerning  
their own assignments?"

With a certain amount of discomfort, Krasnovsky told him  
that the crew would have the option of remaining with the ship  
during the Academy assignment, of taking accumulated leave time,  
or shifting to other line or staff positions. He was even more  
astonished when Kirk beamed in response. "Good! I expect that  
most of the crew will exercise their option to stay with the ship.  
They'll enjoy the opportunity to train Starfleet cadets as much as I  
will."

Krasnovsky was stunned. "As much as I will"? What was  
Kirk thinking? Did this man who had just returned from one of the  
most responsible assignments in Starfleet really think it would be an  
honor to train midshipmen?

"Admiral, let me be the first to sign up," Kirk added  
smoothly.

Krasnovsky felt his jaw drop and closed his mouth firmly.  
He could think of nothing to say in response.

"Of course, I can't speak for Mr. Spock," Kirk continued in  
the same calm, pleasant voice, "but I'm confident he will also  
choose to stay aboard."

Krasnovsky slowly collected his wits, but Kirk had already  
risen to terminate the holo transmission, adding only, "I'll pass the  
news to Mr. Spock, Admiral. I'll ask him to get in touch with you  
shortly."

A few minutes later, Krasnovsky received a call from Spock  
to notify him formally that he would be willing to remain as First  
Officer of the *Enterprise* during the Academy assignment. The  
Vulcan's manner was polite and serious, and the call left  
Krasnovsky even more confused than ever. To him the assignment  
seemed a waste of talent for two of the Fleet's most experienced  
officers of the line, but he knew his counterpart at the Academy  
would be thrilled with the news.

Moreover, the political context of the decision to assign the  
*Enterprise* to the Academy created an extremely unpromising  
climate for rational personnel decisions, or any other kind of  
decision. He sighed and punched in the transmission code for the  
Academy Provost.

*********************

The briefings dragged on all that day and the next. Spock  
spent most of that time meeting with Starfleet's senior science staff,  
and Kirk missed his help. Nogura's staff were determined to tear his  
report apart paragraph by paragraph. They questioned his  
conclusions incessantly, taking him to task for decisions on which  
the record had closed long ago.

Kirk stood his ground. No one knew the *Enterprise* and  
its missions better than he did. His decisions had not been made  
rashly, and he'd reflected on them deeply in retrospect. He knew the  
supporting data for the report like the back of his hand. The  
sessions were stressful, but he fought back energetically, gaining  
confidence as he fended off their attacks. He left the second day's  
session with a sense of accomplishment, and decided to do some  
politicking with Nogura's trusted assistant Lori Ciani at the  
reception that evening.

****************************

Nogura studied James Kirk from across the room. He was  
thoroughly ready to send him off into space again and be done with  
him. Kirk was lobbying brilliantly for a second five-year mission  
with himself in command, and already, he'd come close to  
persuading the wavering Admirals. Even the hard-headed Igor  
Krasnovsky had told him earlier that evening what a fine team Kirk  
and his first officer had made on the *Enterprise,* how well they  
balanced each other's strengths, how unusually well-coordinated  
their work had been. He'd said it would be a shame to assign such  
excellent line officers to staff duty.

In spite of himself, Nogura felt a grudging respect for Kirk's  
tactical skill. By volunteering to head the short-term Academy  
space flight program, Kirk had taken the initiative away from  
Nogura and assured that he and Spock would be positioned to  
resume command of the *Enterprise* when she was ready to go  
into space again. Kirk's offer had had the predictable effect on the  
Academy staff. If Nogura refused, he'd have the Provost, the  
faculty and the Trustees all over him.

Once it became known that Kirk was willing to head the  
space flight program, most of the General Staff had indicated  
privately to Nogura that they liked the idea of his remaining with  
the ship. Kirk had made it very clear that he would insist on keeping  
Kirk as his First Officer. Spock, like Kirk, was a public symbol of  
the Five Year Mission, and the longer the two of them remained on  
the *Enterprise,* the stronger the pressure to renew the Mission  
would be. Moreover, in the cautious feelers he'd sent out, Spock  
had shown no interest in the Outer Rim post. That surprised  
Nogura; he'd thought the Vulcan would be attracted by the choice  
scientific assignment.

Perhaps his plan to coopt Kirk into the Academy wasn't  
such a bright idea after all. Kirk easily could be more trouble than  
his considerable symbolic worth, since he was certain to use the  
Admiralty as a base to lobby for space exploration. His skill at  
defending the *Enterprise's* achievements in the debriefing sections  
was considerable.

Nogura looked at the two of them, Kirk and the Vulcan,  
chatting with Lori, and muttered a silent imprecation. Even his  
trusted assistant hadn't been much help. Already, like a gushing  
schoolgirl, she'd developed a crush on the attractive starship  
captain. He wouldn't mind that if Kirk had responded in kind. But  
he hadn't. Right now, he was smiling amiably enough at Lori, but  
Nogura had the impression he really wasn't interested in her as a  
woman.

He heard a sound at his elbow and turned around to see the  
portly figure of Admiral Husam Abd al-Hamid at his elbow, a wide  
grin splitting his broad peasant's face. "Enjoying the party?" he  
asked and laughed at Nogura's expression of distaste. Everyone  
knew that Nogura was a workhouse who tolerated official  
receptions, even for honored starships, only as a necessary  
administrative chore.

Still, Nogura was glad to see his pot-bellied colleague. Abd  
al-Hamid's earthy good humor was one of the few things that made  
him relax. Husam waved a pudgy finger in Kirk's direction.  
"You know, this is the first time I've seen Jim Kirk since he  
took my course in Navigation, Constitution Class. I prided myself  
that it was one of the hardest courses at the Academy. I used to  
give the class the toughest problems I could concoct--and Kirk  
hardly ever did them the way they were supposed to be done. He  
always managed to come up with a unique solution of his own. And  
they were really some of the best I've seen--he had really quite an  
original mind."

Nogura forced himself to smile. He was getting a little tired  
of hearing how much other people admired James Kirk.  
"It will be a real privilege for the midshipmen to work with  
him in the space light program. And you know, Heihachiro,  
although I'd enjoy having him on the General Staff, the same  
qualities that make him such an excellent line officer--imagination,  
creativity--can be quite counterproductive in a desk job."

"He's an able administrator," Nogura replied neutrally.  
"Quick, decisive, thorough. You wouldn't know it from his personal  
style, but he ran the tightest ship in the Fleet."

"He is still so young, though," Abd al-Hamid countered.  
"Five more years on a starship might be best for him--and for us."  
"I've asked Igor to have his department look at all the  
options," said Nogura noncommittally.

Abd al-Hamid continued to look appreciatively in Kirk's  
direction. "He was terribly serious at the Academy, you know, a  
very hard-working student. But he could play hard as well. Always  
a young woman--or a bevy of them--in his life. He was what we call  
*zir al-nisa,* a 'jug of women'...."

"A womanizer," Nogura translated absently. He had little  
interest in the sex lives of his subordinates, no matter how colorful  
they were--unless, of course, their sexual proclivities detracted from  
their work performance. In his own observation, "womanizing" was  
often an effective way for an officer in a high-pressure position to  
let off steam.

"Actually," Abd al-Hamid continued, "I used to wonder if a  
weakness for beautiful women might turn out to be Kirk's Achilles'  
heel. But I see that hasn't happened! Even poor Lori doesn't seem  
to be having much success in her campaign, and if she flirted like  
that with *me*...."

Listening to his colleague's hearty chuckle, Nogura was  
suddenly aware of Kirk, Spock and Lori Ciani, of their body  
language. Lori was leaning toward Kirk, as though trying to draw  
him into her own aura. Spock hovered protectively at Kirk's  
shoulder. And Kirk himself was holding his drink in front of his  
body as though it were a symbolic barrier between himself and Lori.  
He was leaning slightly toward his First Officer, turning his head to  
look up at him from time to time as he spoke to Lori. It was as  
though a taut, invisible thread held the two men together.

The scene came into sharp focus for Nogura. If Spock were  
not a Vulcan, he thought, and if Vulcans did not have their  
marriages arranged in childhood ... but of course, he remembered  
that Spock's marriage had been dissolved years ago, on Vulcan.

Suddenly Nogura remembered an incident they'd gone over  
in the debriefing session the day before, the events near Beta  
Carinae in which Spock had almost burned up the *Enterprise*  
going after Kirk in a disabled shuttlecraft. His colleagues had been  
impressed with the result, he'd thought it impossibly foolhardy. And  
he found it frankly astonishing that any Vulcan, reared on logic,  
could justify such a risk.

After the meeting, he'd spent some time going over  
*Enterprise* logs in his office, looking at other incidents in which  
one of the pair had taken unusual risks to protect or rescue the  
other, and had found a large number. It appeared to be a pattern  
that he planned to bring up at an appropriate time.  
Nogura hated to leave bits of information unconnected.

Always, he moved them about in his mind until they fit together in a  
single whole. And in a sudden flash of insight, he saw that whole.  
The pieces of the puzzle came together and fit. Kirk's  
insistence that he and Spock remain on the *Enterprise*; Kirk's  
disinterest in Lori; the Beta Carinae incident and a score of others;  
Spock's lack of enthusiasm for the Outer Rim ....

Nogura *knew,* with the sureness of instinct honed over  
years of manipulating others, that Kirk and his First Officer were  
lovers.

With a heartiness he did not feel, Nogura took Abd  
al-Hamid's arm and steered the two of them toward the bar to refill  
their drinks.

*******************************

As the party was breaking up, Nogura took Lori Ciani aside  
and asked to speak to her alone. She was the only person he could  
trust to carry out this assignment, and he knew she'd be motivated  
once he told her what he wanted. She'd be shocked at first at the  
idea of prying into the personal affairs of fellow officers, but she'd  
accept it when he told her that the good of the Fleet was at stake.

"Find out for me if Kirk and Spock are involved ...  
romantically," he told her bluntly. "I don't care what you have to do  
to find out, what confidential files you need to access. Look at  
every record on the *Enterprise* if you must--communication logs,  
medical records, whatever. Just do it."

Her eyes widened in disbelief at first, but then she saw the  
grim expression on his face and nodded. "First thing tomorrow,  
sir."

****************************

After he left the party, Nogura did not go home but went  
back to his office, let himself in, and engaged the computer tie-in  
under his own confidential highest security level code. He accessed  
the classified intelligence files on Vulcan, and his questions were  
brief and direct. They concerned the Vulcan practice of telepathic  
bonding and a certain clause in the treaty between Vulcan and the  
Federation that was known, within Starfleet, only to members of  
the General Staff and officeers with the highest level of security  
clearance.

The computer's soft monotone told him all he needed to  
know. The phenomenon he knew only from rumor had a name, a  
scientific explanation, and a long history of examples. The files  
pointed him toward a single policy conclusion. If Kirk and Spock  
were bondmates, he could never allow them to serve on a starship  
again.

Nogura left the office and walked across the still, moonlit  
courtyards to his apartment, his footsteps muffled in the mist. He  
felt a grim sense of satisfaction. He reflected that although he'd  
never gambled, if he to start now he could safely stake a year's  
salary on the answer Lori would produce to his question.

****************************

He didn't have to wait long. During the noon break in the  
debriefing talks the next day, Nogura went back to his own office  
to look through some personnel files of promising officers who  
might be interested in heading a space flight training program for  
midshipmen. He'd barely started when Lori was buzzed into his  
office. She looked deeply embarrassed, and he asked her to sit  
across the desk from him.

She bowed her head, then handed him a pair of data wafers.  
"I believe the answer to your question is 'yes,'" she said softly. "No  
evidence of any formal relationship, but I found ship's  
communication logs that show that they spent the night in each  
other's cabins and took shore leave together. And medical records  
show that each of them was having sexual relations with a man. Not  
just on leave, but during long stretches when the ship was in deep  
space." She swallowed uncomfortably. "And sir, the records show  
that Kirk was meticulous about avoiding sexual contact with  
members of his crew." She had to force herself to meet his eyes.

"Members of the crew, yes. That would rule out anyone not  
of command-grade rank."

Lori nodded miserably. Nogura felt a little sorry for her.

"Any other data?" he asked.  
She sighed and made a noncommittal gesture. "I don't  
consider ship's gossip to be 'data,' sir, but I inquired, and it's  
certainly consistent."

Nogura nodded, thanked her, apologized tersely for the  
unusual assignment, and hinted that he needed the information to  
help him evaluate Kirk's and Spock's performance during the  
Mission. Lori looked puzzled, and he didn't think she really believed  
him, but she rose politely and let herself out

**************************

Later that afternoon, Nogura buzzed Igor Krasnovsky and  
gave him the name of a young officer whom he wished to  
recommend personally to head the Academy training program. Yes,  
he knew that Igor wanted Kirk and Spock to stay on, but nine  
months was far too long to allow two such valuable members of the  
Fleet to vegetate in a public relations job. Yes, he knew the  
Academy people would be disappointed, but he'd take care of that.

He'd handle the Provost and the Trustees personally.  
Nogura waited calmly as surprise and chagrin played  
themselves out on Krasnovsky's stiff  
features. Nogura rarely exercised his influence by making a  
personnel recommendation to Krasnovsky, and Krasnovsky knew  
the consequences of ignoring the Commanding Admiral's  
recommendations well enough. In clipped tones he assured Nogura  
he'd beginning processing the assignment immediately.

****************************

Twenty-four floors above the city of San Francisco, Lori  
Ciani sat motionless on the overstuffed sofa in her  
elegantly-decorated living room. The drapes were swept back from  
the large picture window that faced the sofa, and the stunning view  
of the lights and the harbor mocked her silently.  
*'Nogura's whore,'* said a tiny voice in her mind--a scrap of  
conversation she had overheard long ago, when she was new to her  
present position on the Commanding Admiral's staff. She had  
dismissed it scornfully at the time; now, it seemed terribly  
appropriate. *By God, I will never pry in a fellow-officer's private  
life again.*

But at least Nogura had saved her from the embarrassment  
of rejection by the man she had tried so hard for the last several  
days to seduce. She turned her head fractionally and stared at the  
bedroom door, open just wide enough to reveal the large bed piled  
high with cushions, the bouquet of peonies on the bedside table, the  
bedclothes turned down suggestively.

She thought back bitterly to her sense of anticipation that  
morning, as she had readied her apartment before leaving for work.  
The decanter of brandy and two glasses on the sideboard, the  
bedroom sensuously appointed. She was going directly from her  
office to a dinner date with Jim Kirk, and she had not even  
questioned that he would come home with her.

That was before she had done as Nogura had asked her, and  
searched the *Enterprise* records for the details of Jim Kirk's sex  
life with his First Officer.

Lori rose and walked over to the sideboard where the  
brandy decanter rested, untouched. Angrily, she twisted off the  
stopper and poured as much brandy as the small glass could hold.  
Staring out the window, she gulped, rather than sipped, the liquor,  
welcoming the sting as it went down, burning her throat like bile.

After what she had learned about Kirk that morning, it was  
easy to figure out that he was using her, using the dinner invitation  
as an opportunity to pump her for information, to use her influence  
with Nogura. And yet he was so passionate, so forthright about his  
desire to go on  
commanding the *Enterprise* with his superb First Officer, that she  
could not help feeling compassion for him.

Finally, at the end of a long, slowly-savored meal in one of  
San Francisco's most splendid restaurants, she had told him. She  
was careful not to betray how she had spied on the intimate details  
of his life, of course. But she told him of Nogura's suspicions and  
his conviction that lovers should not serve together in a particularly  
sensitive field command.

She didn't know what she had expected. Embarrassment,  
evasion, even anger, perhaps. But surely not the open honesty, the  
blazing pride.

"Hell, yes, we're lovers. And you can tell Nogura that I am  
far more honored to be the lover of Spock of Vulcan than all the  
medals and commendations in Starfleet."

She had flinched under the heat of his withering scorn, even  
though it was not directed at her. Gently, she tried to explain  
Nogura's reasoning, but he would have none of it.

"We were the best team in Starfleet before, and we're an  
even better team now. I intend to spend the rest of my life with  
Spock, and I don't care what Nogura thinks. Just let him try to  
separate us!"

She had no answer for that. She stared back at him mutely,  
thinking that Nogura would be only too pleased to take up that  
challenge. Her voice sounded weak and strange when she finally  
said, "Jim, do not take this lightly. He is a very powerful man."  
But Kirk had scarcely heard her. He pushed his chair back,  
stood up and gestured for their server. The evening was over.

*********************************

It was nearly midnight, and still Kirk had not returned from  
his dinner appointment with Lori Ciani. Spock meditated longer  
than usual, toyed with the idea of waiting up, and finally decided to  
go to bed. Even in meditation, he could not suppress two warring  
emotions--his pride in Jim's total commitment and fidelity to him,  
and a dark current of fear and jealousy sparked by his memory of  
how Lori had looked at Jim at the party, how plainly attracted to  
him she was.

Jim had invited her to dinner to obtain information about  
Nogura and the rest of the Admiralty, and to try through her to  
influence Nogura. The tactic made sense, but Spock knew well his  
captain's capacity for manipulation, and when the stakes were this  
high ... it was unproductive to guess what was happening between  
Jim and Lori, he told himself firmly,  
and forced himself to sleep.

The door whooshed and woke him up and he saw the  
outline of Kirk's body in the darkness. He half sat up and moved  
over to make room in the bed. Kirk lay down heavily beside him,  
not bothering to disrobe or even to shake his boots off, simply  
hugging him and burying his face in his neck.

Spock touched Kirk's head lightly and was surprised when  
Kirk caught his hand in a tight grip and placed Spock's fingers on  
his own temple. But he readily initiated the mind-meld his partner  
sought.

He was unprepared for the torrent of vivid emotion that  
poured from Kirk's mind, so intense that he almost drew his hand  
back from the shock. But those feelings were not for him. They  
were anguish and passion for the *Enterprise.*

"They've taken her away from me, Spock," Kirk whispered  
even as Spock saw it in his mind. Saw him meeting Lori in the  
restaurant, pumping her for information. Saw her reluctance to talk  
eventually melt under the full force of his charm. Saw her admit that  
someone else had already been appointed to run the space flight  
program. Felt Jim's shock and dismay when she confessed that  
Nogura suspected he and Spock were lovers. Flinched and then  
flushed with pride at Jim's blazing defense of their relationship.

The meld was too intense to hold. Spock drew back, broke  
the connection with a small mental apology. "But our conversations  
with Krasnovski? I thought it was settled. What happened?"

Kirk shook his head despondently. "I left Lori at the  
restaurant and called Krasnovski. I asked him if it was true, and he  
confirmed it." He laid his head down n the pillow beside Spock in  
despair. "Said Nogura had talked him out of it. He said he'd decided  
that running a training program was a waste of my skills and  
experience. He even implied--" Kirk's voice took on a caustic  
edge-- "that I was interested in the job because it would be a soft,  
easy assignment. That I want to stay on the *Enterprise* because  
I'm lazy! I'd be insulted, if it weren't so absurd."

Spock felt Kirk's tight-leashed energy and tension against  
his own body. "Did Krasnovski indicate what assignment you will  
receive?"

Kirk shook his head against Spock's shoulder. "No. But he  
hinted that a big promotion is in store, that the General Staff thinks  
I should be placed in a 'much more responsible' position." He sighed  
wearily, then rolled over on his back and threw an arm across his  
eyes. "Shit, I don't  
mind a promotion. I deserve it. Plenty of Commodores have  
commanded starships, and I don't see why a Vice-Admiral couldn't  
hold a flagship command. But I can't see myself in a paper-pushing  
job."

"Krasnovski is not incorrect, Jim, in suggesting there is  
considerable responsibility in an upper-echelon staff job," Spock  
pointed out, trying to sound objective. "As a member of the general  
staff, you could be an effective advocate for space exploration."

"Yes, I know," Kirk said wearily. "Jose keeps telling me he  
needs my support. That I could tip the balance against Nogura's  
Terran chauvinism within the Admiralty. But Spock, dammit, I  
don't want the job."

"But if another starship command is not available--" Spock  
said tentatively, wanting to hear Kirk draw the obvious conclusion.  
Kirk lifted his head and looked down at Spock. "It's  
available if I can get it. Jose told me today that the commander of  
the *Lexington* is due to retire in four months. They haven't  
picked out a replacement for her yet, and the timing is right."

Spock felt a tiny stab of disappointment. He wondered why  
Kirk had failed to state the obvious. "Jim, you just showed me what  
Ms. Ciani shared with you--that Nogura will do everything in his  
power to prevent us from serving together as long as he believes  
that we are lovers."

Kirk touched his face apologetically and gave him a rueful  
half-smile. "I haven't forgotten that, Spock--I just don't believe  
Nogura can make it stick."

Spock's disappointment turned to  
warmth, and he decided that a discussion of the practical problems  
could wait for another day. Although they were no longer linked,  
he could still feel Kirk's fierce love for the *Enterprise,* his anger  
at Nogura and Krasnovski for tearing him away from his ship. And  
underneath Kirk's anguish, he could feel a sharp surge of sexual  
energy and desire. He pulled reached down and pulled their bodies  
together, and with some satisfaction felt Kirk's cock hardening  
through the cloth of his uniform. If he could not restore the  
*Enterprise* to Kirk, at least he could give him this.

Almost apologetically, Kirk stirred away from him. "Spock,  
I didn't come here to impose my own needs on you. "

"You are hardly imposing," Spock murmured into his hair.  
He pulled away then, rose, helped Kirk undress, then lay back down  
on the bed again and gently eased Kirk down beside him. Jim bent  
over him and groped for Spock's mouth. The kiss that began almost  
awkwardly took hold, and they locked together in mute hunger. A  
current of desire spread down Spock's  
body, deepening, gaining force with Kirk's touch, with each testing  
of the expert ways Kirk knew would give him pleasure. The soft  
pressure of Kirk's lips against his skin brought a new set of nerves  
to life, left them glowing and warm and vibrant, as though the  
neurons existed only to  
transmit his lover's touch.

Gratefully, Spock sighed as Kirk leaned back and crouched  
over him, preparing them both for intercourse. He reached out to  
touch Kirk's stiff organ, to pull it toward his own body. "Careful,"  
Kirk gasped as he rolled Spock back and leaned over him. And then  
the thick cock was inside Spock, making slow velvety  
strokes--impossible pleasure. Spock sank his fingers into Kirk's  
round buttocks, pressing him deeper, into his very core ... .With  
each stroke, a bright, glowing burst of energy pulsed and swelled in  
his belly ... pulsed and gathered and coalesced, until the tide of  
energy broke and sank back upon its center.

Kirk's whole body shuddered as he came, all his pent-up  
energy vented in the ejaculation. He collapsed on Spock's chest,  
gasping heavily. Spock stroked his hair, his broad back, its  
hard-muscled flesh now soft and moist from orgasm.  
Kirk leaned mutely against him, still breathing too heavily to  
speak.  
"I needed you," he finally gasped. "Oh, Spock, I'd give  
anything to be back on the ship--making love like this after a crisis,  
after we'd survived losing all our dilithium crystals and being  
surrounded by a horde of Klingons ... sounds silly, doesn't it?" He  
shook his hair out off his  
eyes with a sad smile.

"I understand," said Spock quietly.

Gratefully, Kirk laid his head down on Spock's chest. Soon  
he was asleep. As he listened to Kirk's regular breathing,  
Spock tried to sort out his own emotions. They were far from  
simple. He was tempted to conclude that Kirk was being stubborn,  
even irrational, to refuse to consider a Staff promotion a welcome  
next step in a brilliant career. But Spock could not, in good  
conscience, be sure that his own response was grounded in logic  
and not in the illogical emotion of protectiveness--and perhaps even  
baser feelings of jealousy and possessiveness.

To be honest with himself, Spock admitted that he would  
find it convenient if Starfleet were to make a decision for Kirk that  
Spock would never ask him to make for himself. And there were  
demands that he would make of Kirk if he would--demands that  
were far from logical.

*I should feel shame,* he acknowledged, *that he means so  
much to me. If I am to become an emotional being, it is better to do  
as he does, to balance this emotion with others. It is far healthier for  
him to feel love for a starship than it is for me to be jealous of it.*  
But even for a Vulcan, nothing is as impossible as to call up  
emotions where they do not exist. And sometimes nothing is more  
unsatisfying than *almost* to have the one thing you want, but not  
quite to have it. Especially when that one thing is a person, whom  
you can never really possess anyway.

Those were the thoughts chasing round in Spock's mind as  
he drifted off tosleep.

*****************************

Areel Shaw was no longer a Starfleet staff attorney. She had  
spent most of the last several years working in the Antitrust  
Division of the Federation Department of Justice, but had resigned  
recently when the new administration weakened its enforcement  
activities. She was now in private practice. When Spock arrived at  
Kirk's apartment on Friday afternoon, ready to leave to visit to  
Kirk's mother in Iowa for the weekend, Areel was already there,  
chatting with Kirk in the living room over drinks.

"Spock, come join us," Kirk's voice rose in welcome as  
Spock let himself in.

"One moment." Spock walked to the other end of the  
apartment to search for some tapes and papers he had left there  
and wanted to take along for the weekend. As he gathered up and  
packed the materials he need, he caught snatches of the  
conversation.

"What if Starfleet does assign us to opposite ends of the  
galaxy?" Kirk asked anxiously. Spock tensed, partly at the question,  
partly at the idea of Kirk's confiding in an outsider. But they had  
agreed that Kirk should talk freely with Areel. He trusted her as an  
old friend and lover, and she was their best source of legal advice if  
they should need it.

"Do you expect them to?" asked Areel.

"I don't know yet," Kirk sighed. "I've submitted a request  
for reassignment to another starship command. I've asked for  
Spock as my First Officer. But I've heard by the grapevine that  
Nogura is dead set against our being assigned together, and Spock  
is being considered for a choice scientific assignment--running a  
research station on the Outer Rim." Kirk's voice was even, with  
only the slightest hint of sarcasm.

"And what can you do if they refuse to honor your request?  
Jim, you know as well as I do that you can't challenge a Starfleet  
assignment unless it's completely arbitrary and capricious." Areel's  
voice was sympathetic, but her tone said, *be reasonable.*

"Areel, it's ridiculous to refuse to let us go on doing what  
we do best, and better than anyone else in Starfleet." Kirk's voice  
was testy.

"How do you think *they* see it?" Areel asked softly.

"Look at our record!" Spock winced at the rising anger in  
Kirk's voice. He did not seem to be listening to Areel.

"Jim--" Areel said firmly, as though to get Kirk's attention,  
"You've already said Nogura has figured out that you and Spock  
are lovers. And Nogura and Krasnovsky are notorious for opposing  
too much personal loyalty in a starship crew. They think it fosters  
too much independence of Starfleet Command. That may be stupid,  
but they don't have to justify their assignments--any more than you  
did aboard the *Enterprise.* You can see their point of view,  
surely. How often did you let personal considerations override  
professional ones with your own crew?"

*Never,* Spock supplied the answer to himself as he stuffed  
a portable computer into its case.  
Kirk paused, and for a beat the conversation stopped.  
Spock could feel him weighing what he would say next.

"Areel, if Spock and I had a legal relationship, Starfleet  
would have to take it into account in assigning us. Formal ties are  
weighed heavily in making long-term duty assignments."

Spock almost dropped the tape he was holding. He and Kirk  
had never discussed any formalization of their relationship.  
Federation law recognized many legal arrangements for sharing  
property, inheritance, pension and insurance monies, for couples  
and groups of almost every conceivable composition. Kirk tended  
to dismiss legal relationships as empty formalities--and Spock's  
culture knew only a single, absolute form of marriage. Any lesser  
tie seemed like a business arrangement than the true Vulcan  
meeting of minds. He did not want anything less.

Areel sighed. "They'd have to consider it, Jim, but even then  
they wouldn't *have* to assign you together. No assignment  
involving either one of you will ever be 'routine.' And you know  
that professional considerations always have priority when the best  
interest of the Fleet is at issue. As long as they have a decent reason  
to assign you to opposite ends of the galaxy, they can do it."  
"And be content to see each other on leaves," Kirk retorted  
bitterly.

"Or one of you could take a leave of absence," Areel added,  
and Spock heard the compassion in her voice as she said, "know  
what this means to you, Jim, but you know that the only partners  
Starfleet *has* to assign together are Vulcan bondmates."

"By special treaty arrangement between Vulcan and the  
Federation," Kirk supplied.

"That's right."

Kirk's next words were so low that even Spock had to strain  
to hear them. "*Spock* is a Vulcan."

Spock gripped the desk he was standing next to. Kirk's  
meaning was clear. And Spock had the uncanny sensation that this  
was not the first time Kirk had thought about the subject.  
A part of him hoped, with a wild, irrational passion, that Jim  
was as serious as he sounded. The rest of him counseled firmly:

*Do not indulge in fantasies. You must make clear to him --*  
"Spock!" Kirk's impatient voice called from the living room.  
Spock stilled his pounding heart as best he could, finished the much  
simpler task of organizing the materials in his case and went to join  
them.

But evidently Jim and Areel were finished talking about  
their being reassigned together. They chatted about the  
*Enterprise,* about Areel's work, about a case she'd just won  
against her former employer, forcing Starfleet to install safety  
locking devices on all seats aboard its vessels--until finally, Spock's  
internal time sense told him they must leave to catch the 1521 air  
tram for southern Iowa.

It would take them 7.6 minute to reach the station. Spock  
glanced at Kirk, who read his expression with the ease of long  
habit. "We're due at my mother's for supper, and I gather from the  
look in Spock's eye that if we don't leave in the next 60 second, the  
tram will take off without us."

Areel smiled and gathered up the case of microtapes she'd  
brought with her. "Have a lovely weekend, both of you. Give my  
love to your mother, Jim, and if I can do anything, please let me  
know."

Kirk kissed her warmly, she squeezed Spock's hand  
affectionately, and was gone.

*******************

It took them only a little longer than the projected sixty  
seconds for Kirk to collect what he needed for the weekend. Once  
aboard the air tram Kirk seemed visibly to relax. He leaned back in  
his seat, stretched his legs and turned to Spock with a sign of relief.

"What a week. Thank God it's over." And then, a smile of  
anticipation tugging at the corners of his mouth, "I can't wait for  
you and Mother to meet, Spock."

"And I am extremely curious to meet your parent."  
"I think you'll like each other," was Kirk's considered  
response. "In fact, I expect her to fall head over heels for you. She's  
always had a soft spot for Vulcans, you know ...."

"Understandable, although such a reaction would be most  
undignified, even for a Human."

Kirk laughed happily. "Well, be prepared for her to lavish all  
sorts of attention on you this weekend. She says she's canceled  
everything else on her agenda, and for Mother, that's pretty serious.  
Especially since she was elected head of LADR last month."

Spock knew that "LADR" --which Kirk pronounced  
"ladder"--was an acronym for the League of Advocates for  
Disability Rights, and he had a rough idea what Kirk's mother did as  
its volunteer president--but he was eager to know more. Indeed, he  
felt a great deal of unsatisfied curiosity about Kirk's mother.

It wasn't that Kirk hadn't told him a great deal about her  
over the years--he had. Spock knew that Margaret McAlister had  
married Kirk's father, a Starfleet officer, when both were still quite  
young. She had been a sensitive, scholarly young women with a  
strong conscience and a streak of creative brilliance in her chosen  
field, electronic engineering. Her specialty was the design of  
electronic devices to assist Humans and other life forms to do  
things they could not do for themselves--communicate, manipulate  
objects, go about the myriad tasks of daily living. She and Jim's  
father had settled in Iowa so that she could work at the Center for  
Applied Medical Electronics near Riverside. When her sons were  
born, she had devoted herself to raising them with the same energy  
and concentration she brought to her work.

Jim's father was gone in space most of the time, and Maggie  
had filled the evenings with her sons with books, art and music.  
Later, as Jim and Sam grew older, she had gradually extended the  
range of her work to include advocacy for the persons who used  
the devices she created. She discovered in herself an innate gift for  
leadership and began to employ her great reserves of energy to  
community organizing. She had never remarried after Jim's father  
was killed in deep space, but had used political and social activities  
to fill the void in her life.

It was these activities that aroused Spock's curiosity.  
"I do not understand precisely what LADR does, Jim. You  
have told me that most of its activities are concentrated in the  
Federation colonies and some of the newer member planets. Is its  
function to provide information about services for people who need  
assistance, or educate the community about Federation law?"

"Well, partly," Kirk replied. "But LADR is basically an  
advocacy group. Its mission is to ensure that Federation civil rights  
laws are enforced, and that government policies are responsive to  
the interests of people with disabilities. They do a lot of their work  
in the colonies, trying to make sure that the newer worlds don't  
repeat the mistakes of Earth's past--like building group homes and  
sheltered workshops."

"That sounds like a simple task--at least, it would be on  
Vulcan. Perhaps that is why we have no need of specialized interest  
groups such as LADR. But, knowing Human illogic, I am sure that  
LADR plays a much-needed role."

Kirk smiled at him affectionately. "I told you, Mother has  
always found Vulcans appealing."

Spock reflected that he had never really had a "feel" for  
Human politics, and he knew that it was because of this gap in his  
experience that it had taken him so long to develop the ability to  
exercise leadership among Humans. Like everything else in Human  
society, Human politics were ruled by Human passions. A chaotic  
mess of clashing interests, opinions and organizations, the Human  
political process was light-years removed from the logical,  
well-ordered manner in which resources were distributed on  
Vulcan.

Kirk looked nervously out the window as they reached the  
end of the twenty-minute tramride. Spock guessed the reason for  
his anxiety.

"Have you told your mother that we ..."

"No," Kirk replied quickly. "I've been rehearsing how I'm  
going to break the news. And I know I'd better figure out how to  
tell her before we unpack, or she'll put you in the guest room."  
Spock raised an eyebrow quizzically, curious to see how  
Kirk would handle a situation that even a Vulcan would find  
challenging.

At 1741 local time, the train descended and coasted to a  
halt at the Riverside station. The platform was small, plain and  
uncrowded, with none of the bustle of San Francisco and its many  
races and cultures. A short woman with grey hair was standing on  
the platform, fidgeting with obvious impatience as they docked.  
"That's Mother," Kirk said unnecessarily, and rushed out of  
the tram, almost leaving his bags behind in his haste. "Jim!" the  
woman called in a voice resonant with joy. By the time Spock had  
followed him out of the car, Jim had already smothered her in a  
bear hug.

"Oof! You've gained weight!"

"All muscle," Kirk shrugged as he stepped back and looked  
at her.

Unimpressed, his mother poked him in the stomach. "That's  
muscle? I'd like to talk to the dietician on your starship about the  
food they let you eat."

Kirk turned to Spock with an enormous grin and introduced  
them with a flourish. As Kirk's mother shook his hand firmly, Spock  
felt the strange shock of seeing Jim's features on someone else. The  
wide, expressive mouth was the same, and the curve of the high  
forehead. They even shared the same broad shoulders and tapering  
back. Although Maggie McAlister was well into her sixties, her  
body was still straight, her eyes clear and candid. Her hair was a  
short, unassuming gray, and she'd made no attempt to disguise the  
lines of age etched into her face. It was as well, Spock thought, for  
they were lines of character, depth and humor. Instinctively, he  
knew he would like her immensely.

It was only a few minutes in Maggie's aircar to the large old  
frame house just outside of town--the house where Jim had grown  
up. Although the air was warm and heavy with humidity, the fresh  
green lawn and crisp white-painted wood, the trees lining the street,  
casting long, peaceful shadows in the sun, made a cool and restful  
contrast to the heat.

They left their bags by the door and followed Maggie into  
the kitchen, for she insisted they have drinks and snacks before they  
unpacked. Spock was startled by the variety of fruit and berry juices  
she had to offer, and even more surprised by the Vulcan cookbook  
he saw on the table.

"Mother probably knows as much about Vulcan cuisine as  
you do, Spock," Kirk explained mischievously, seeing the surprised  
on Spock's face. "You see, she's always been a health food fanatic  
..."

His mother groaned and turned to Spock for support. "You  
wouldn't believe how difficult it was to keep this child away from  
junk food when he was growing up," she said ruefully as she  
poured them all some juice. "George was different--he never ate  
anything that wasn't good for him. But this one ...." she nodded  
reproachfully at her younger son, "as soon as he was old enough to  
walk over to the other kids' homes, he learned how to con their  
parents into giving him white bread and chocolate cake."  
Kirk acknowledged the reproof with a grin. "Mother, you  
would have loved to have Spock for a son. I don't think he's ever  
eaten an unrefined carbohydrate in his entire life."

"I have, however, had glucose administered to me in  
Sickbay," Spock countered, entering easily into their banter. "It was  
enough to convince me that I much prefer carbohydrates in their  
natural state."

Maggie laughed appreciatively. "We'll have our drinks in the  
study," she apologized as they left the kitchen. "The living room's  
full of LADR stuff that I haven't gotten organized yet." As they  
passed the entrance to the living room, Spock saw that it was  
crowded with cabinets, cartons of tapes and equipment waiting to  
be installed. A large D-687 duotronic computer, not hooked up yet,  
sat next to an equally sophisticated communications console in the  
corner.

"Central will have to run a cable in so that we'll have  
enough power to supply the computer," Maggie explained. "The  
solar unit on the roof can't supply the energy to run it. We put in a  
request weeks ago, but they haven't gotten around to it yet."  
"Maybe they'll let Spock and me put it in ourselves  
tomorrow. At least, LADR must be doing well to afford this  
equipment," Kirk smiled.

"That's just the trouble," Maggie sighed. "We bought it a  
couple of years ago, when we had a big grant from the Social  
Welfare Commission. But then the Coalition came to power, and  
our only source of funds apart from membership dues is private  
foundation money. And we have to stand in line for that along with  
all the other groups who're in the same boat."

"What does the Coalition have to do with it?" Kirk frowned.  
"The Commissioner of Social Welfare for the Coalition is a  
New Humanist. She doesn't think highly of LADR."

"Why not? Who could oppose the work you do?"

"The New Humanists think LADR is too individualistic.'  
They believe the solution to issues of unequal status is not civil  
rights, but submersion in the collective identity. They accuse us of  
caring too much about personal fulfillment."

"Oh," Kirk shrugged, raising his glass in a mock salute as  
they entered the study. "At the risk of sounding  
individualistic'--here's to personal fulfillment!"

The study was a pleasant, light-filled room, with warm oak  
paneling and comfortable furniture. The room was orderly, but it  
was a complex, idiosyncratic sort of order. Plants, books and  
portraits crowded the walls and shelves in a logic that obviously  
was Maggie's own.

Spock surveyed the artifacts on the wall with interest. His  
eyes were caught by a portrait of a tow-headed, round-faced child  
whose even rounder eyes were full of mischief. Jim. There were  
family portraits with a youthful Maggie and a serious, strong-jawed  
man with Jim's eyes. Later portraits showed only the two boys. It  
was as though both parents had vanished at once, Spock thought,  
as though she had died with her mate like a Vulcan--a strange  
illusion, since obviously she was very much alive.

The most visually striking picture on the wall was a large,  
lovingly detailed drawing that hung over Maggie's desk. It was a  
portrait of two children, but they were not Jim and Sam. One child  
was a little Andorian girl of about five or six standard years, whose  
face bore the classic signs of Therin's syndrome, a developmental  
disability common among Andorians. Her eyes were small, her  
antennae curved at the tips. The other was a Human child of the  
same age. They were playing a hand-patting game with each other,  
and their faces were alive and joyful. The little Andorian girl's head  
was thrown back in laughter, and the little boy's face was lit up with  
an elf-like grin. They were beautiful.

Moved, Spock had a sudden insight into the roots of Jim's  
open-mindedness. He remembered the conversation Jim had had  
with Alexander, the dwarf they had rescued from Platonius. Jim had  
asked him if there were any other Platonians like you,' that is,  
without the Platonians' psycho-kinetic power, and Alexander's face  
had lit up when he realized what Kirk had meant. "I thought you  
were referring to my height," he'd explained apologetically. Kirk  
hadn't been.

Kirk sat down and propped his feet up on a small table  
covered with books and pamphlets. Spock was surprised at the easy  
rapport between Jim and his mother, at the fact that they genuinely  
liked each other. Not wanting to intrude, he turned his attention to  
the books on the shelves. His eyes met a row of books, highly  
technical ones from the look of them, on the design of sophisticated  
mobility aids.

"Come and sit down, Spock," said Maggie. He was  
surprised at how easily their rapport stretched to include him.  
Maggie's interest in him was genuine and not merely a product of  
her hospitality. In fact, she was soon showering him with questions.  
How did he reconcile Vulcan pacifism and service in Starfleet? Did  
he have much opportunity to pursue pure scientific research aboard  
the *Enterprise,* or was he forced to compromise his scientific  
interests in favor of more practical concerns? Was he often  
uncomfortable with Starfleet policies? Jim leaned back and listened  
fondly as he answered her questions, honestly, without  
oversimplification.

At a pause in the conversation, Maggie caught Jim's eye and  
said reproachfully, "I wonder how Spock felt when you violated the  
Prime Directive on Gamma Trianguli VI."

Jim's eyes referred the question to Spock with an amused  
twinkle.

Spock looked at Maggie in sympathy, sensing that she was  
on his side. "Indeed, I did have grave reservations about our actions  
there."

Maggie looked at her son in triumph. "You see? Even your  
own First Officer didn't agree with you."

Kirk grinned at Spock. "As you will remember, I fought that  
one out with Starfleet all the way up to the Federation Council.  
They finally saw it my way, but I could never convince Mother that  
I did the right thing."

"Of course not!" Maggie replied with a rhetorical flourish.  
"You had no right to destroy another society's scheme of  
organization because they didn't believe in *your* work ethic!"

"Mother, you should talk!" Kirk grinned with relish. "Look  
at the energy you put into getting people with disabilities into  
boring, meaningless jobs. Remember how you and your  
organization ganged up on that colony government that wanted to  
give people government benefits instead of forcing them to work?"

"That was a civil rights issue," Maggie retorted. "People  
have a right to work."

"A right, or a duty?"

"People need to feel that they have a meaningful place in  
their own society, and ours happens to be organized around work."

"And Federation colonies can't decide to organize their  
societies any other way?"

Maggie's sigh was exaggerated for effect. "Only people with  
disabilities were eligible for government support instead of having  
to work for a living. It was an issue of equality."

"Was it? You've always told me that the state can give  
people with disabilities privileges it doesn't give others."

"The benefits may have been labeled a privilege, but they  
robbed people of dignity, the dignity of doing something  
productive."

"Sounds a lot like what I said to the people of Vaal."  
Maggie turned to Spock with an expression of mock  
exasperation. "I know that other societies have developed  
approaches that are better than ours. I wish we had more contact  
with our counterparts on Vulcan, Spock; we could learn so much  
from you ...."

Spock acknowledged the compliment carefully. "I agree that  
more contact would benefit both parties," he said slowly,  
wondering what deep waters the conversation might take them into,  
wondering what she would think if she knew the nature of his  
relationship with Jim.

"For instance, I've heard that Vulcans never segregated  
people with disabilities, never sent them to live separately from the  
rest of the community." Her face was open and serious, her grey  
eyes alight with curiosity. "I've always wondered why.'  
Spock nodded, matching her seriousness with his own.

"That is true. Partly it is because we were spared the affliction of  
eugenic attitudes and the other ideological offshoots of your social  
Darwinist era. More fundamentally, it may be because we do not  
identify ourselves so much by ability and achievement as by our  
connections with others in the community."

"Explain." Maggie's gaze was focused on him,  
single-mindedly.

"We define ourselves by our role within the family, within  
the larger clan, by geography--for example, I am considered by  
other Vulcans to be first and foremost the son or Sarek and  
Amanda, of the clan headed by T'Pau, of the city of Shikahr. A  
family member with a severe disability would be defined no  
differently."

She continued to question him, and he felt the space  
contract around them, Jim's comfortable presence in the  
background, as Maggie focused single-mindedly on him. Spock had  
decided he could continue the conversation for several hours when  
Maggie suddenly started and turned toward Jim, a guilty expression  
on her face.

Maggie rose from her chair and retrieved a small hand-held  
recorder/viewer from her desk. "Jim, I almost forgot. I have at least  
a hundred messages to give you. People have been calling here  
non-stop since the Enterprise got back. I copied them on this  
machine so you could play them back in your room or whatever.  
Eighty percent of them are women, I might add. Some I didn't  
know you were still in touch with ... " She thumbed the directory  
button and read the names off slowly. "Danielle Marchand called,  
and Felicia Quintero ... Melissa Wright ... Miriam Benrubi ... Amal  
Nashat ...Fusako Yamaguchi ..."She pressed the button that made  
the directory cycle more quickly, "Anna Redemskaya. Jocelyn  
Thaxton. Isabelle Aulas. Ingrid Isaksen, Ting Pei, Saniya al-Khalidi,  
Ipek Menderes, Indira Sabharwal, and--oh, yes, something even  
came in from Ruth Davidow. She said that she and her husband  
have just separated, and she'd like very much to see you...."

Maggie shot her son a look full of significance, and Kirk's  
face reddened. Spock realized that this must be *the* Ruth.

"Uh, Mother, that's all right. I'll just take the tapes and play  
them over when I have time." Kirk grabbed the viewer from his  
mother's hand before she had a chance to read any more names.

Maggie looked up at him, puzzled and mildly amused. "All  
right, I'm sure you'll want to spend some time deciding whom to see  
this weekend. Just don't make the same date with more than three  
women at a time ...."

From her Sibylline smile, Spock could tell that this cryptic  
remark had a history attached to it. Kirk continued to blush in  
embarrassment; plainly, enlightenment was not going to come from  
him.

Finally, Maggie broke the silence. "Spock, when Jim was in  
secondary school, he became quite popular with the young women  
at Oak Manor, a secondary academy in this area. Whenever Oak  
Manor had a dance, or a hayride, or a boat trip, Jim always went as  
someone's date. Jim's junior year, Oak Manor had a camping trip,  
just after he'd finished his entrance exams for Starfleet Academy.  
What with taking the exams, apparently Jim didn't notice that he'd  
accepted three different invitations for the same weekend. By the  
time he discovered the mistake, it was too late for any of them to  
make other arrangements. So Jim went as the date of all three of  
them --"

"Mother--" Kirk's face was scarlet, and he was obviously  
trying to think of a way to keep his mother from saying more.

Spock attempted to pass a tray of raw vegetables in an effort to  
distract them.

Fortunately, Maggie noticed that their glasses were empty  
and leaped up to refill them. As she headed for the kitchen, Kirk got  
up and followed her without a word to Spock.

From the hall, their voices carried to Spock's sensitive ears:  
Jim's low and exasperated, his mother's louder and clearly puzzled.  
"Mother, you don't have to dredge up the history of my  
romantic exploits.'

"All right, I won't, then. But why are you so upset?"

"Mother, I am thirty-seven years old. You can credit me  
with a little more maturity than I had when I was sixteen. I don't go  
out with three people at a time --"

"Oh!" Sudden understanding sounded in Maggie's voice.

"You've found someone ... something ... permanent." Her statement  
was somewhere between a conclusion and a question.

Spock felt, rather than heard, the catch in Kirk's breath. Jim  
must have nodded, because his mother went on, "Jim! Oh, Jim, oh,  
please tell me about her! But ..." her voice grew puzzled again,  
"why can't you talk about it in front of Spock?"

"Mother ...," Kirk's voice was low and intense. "It *is*  
Spock."

Spock jumped as he heard the sound of a sharp intake of  
breath, as though Maggie had been punched in the stomach. His  
own insides turned over in fear. And then his fear turned to relief as  
he heard Jim's mother exclaim in unmistakable joy, "Oh, Jim, I'm so  
glad! Oh, he is such a fine person!"

Spock heard a muffled *oof* from Jim that sounded as  
though his mother had just hugged him, and some incoherent  
noises. Maggie's voice caught as though she were crying.  
"I was afraid you would never find someone to settle down  
with. Or that if you did, it would be someone you liked for her  
body."

"There's nothing wrong with Spock's body," Kirk protested,  
and his mother laughed. They must have gone into the kitchen then,  
because Spock did not hear any more until they re-emerged with  
freshly-filled glasses on the tray, Maggie's face tear-streaked but  
radiant, Jim's eyes glistening with joy.

********************************

After that, Maggie treated him as one of the family. They  
had a quick conference about how to spend the weekend and  
decided to have some of Jim's old friends over for an informal  
spaghetti supper on Saturday. Jim took their bags up to his old  
room, and Maggie announced they had reservations at an excellent  
vegetarian restaurant in Des Moines. Jim returned some calls, got in  
touch with the friends he wanted to invite for the next evening, and  
by the time they arrived at the restaurant, they were so hungry that  
even Jim attacked the alfalfa sprouts with relish.

********************************

Afterwards, Spock was full and pleasantly tired. They said  
goodnight to Maggie and mounted the stairs to Jim's room  
together.

Kirk closed the door and gave him a fierce hug. "Welcome  
to the family, Mr. Spock."

"Indeed, your mother is most welcoming. I had expected  
her to be--surprised."

"She was. But she said it was a pleasant surprise. Mother's  
never felt that sexual preference is immutable. Actually, she used to  
say that the reason a mother likes to see her son settle down with a  
woman is that it flatters her, the mother--she can identify with her  
son's partner and tell herself her son chose a wife just like Mom.  
But Mother says she became immune to that temptation long ago ...  
"

"Why?" Spock asked, puzzled.

"Because the women I was attracted to were usually so  
different from her--or so she says," Kirk grinned.

"She did not know Edith Keeler," Spock said seriously.  
A cloud passed briefly over Kirk's face. "No, and I could  
never tell her about it, because it's classified."

After a small silence Spock continued, "But given your  
brother's death would your mother not prefer to have more  
grandchildren? I have seen the concern with carrying on the family  
line' in so much of your literature ..."

Kirk shook his head firmly. "You won't find much of that  
since the Eugenics Wars, Spock, though I admit it's there in  
pre-War literature, certainly. We fought a war over the issue of  
whether one person can ever be more important than another  
because of the genes he carries, and most of us regard that question  
as settled, once and for all. And concern for the fate of one's  
lineage' is just another variant of Eugenism. I know that Mother and  
Father certainly felt that way."

Spock nodded in agreement. He was relieved and happy  
that Kirk's mother accepted their relationship. Now they would  
have to face the far more serious problems that remained.  
Kirk was offering the bathroom, and Spock accepted the  
invitation to take the first shower. "Don't drown," Kirk warned him.  
"No sonics here, only water."

Actually, the abundant warm water was very pleasant, and  
Spock emerged feeling refreshed, renewed and with a sense of  
well-being. As Jim prepared to take his own shower, Spock looked  
around the room as curiously as an archaeologist examining the  
evidence of a long-buried civilization.

"Put on some music, if you like," Jim told him, gesturing  
toward the tape player. Spock rifled through a large collection of  
popular music, which appeared mostly to be strenuous, sexually  
suggestive dance music, until he came to the classical tapes. He  
chose Oryanale's Concerto for Four Violins because it had always  
reminded him of Jim: high-soaring strings punctuated by warm,  
assertive brass and soft questioning notes from the woodwinds.

One wall was covered with rows and rows of books and  
tapes--everything from poetry and philosophy to hyperlight physics  
and topology. A small computer console stood by the desk, flanked  
by shelves covered with plaques and the small metal statues Spock  
recognized as awards for achievement. He spent a few moments  
picking out successively younger and younger pictures of Jim in the  
group portraits that hung on the wall: athletic teams, debating  
teams, chess tournament teams, Student Council. "Annual  
Mathematics Competition, North American  
Division, Earth Secondary Schools Association, First Prize, 2252."  
"Atlantic Region Annual Swim Meet, 2253, First Prize, Freeform  
Event." "First Prize, Elena Santore All-Terran Essay Contest in  
History, 2255." Vulcans did not reward intangible achievements  
with tangible objects, but Spock acknowledged the flush of pride he  
felt.

Jim emerged from the bathroom, swathed in a large towel,  
and sat down on the bed damply. He looked at Spock with a hint of  
embarrassment. "Those things make the place look like a museum.  
Mother hung them up while I was away ..."

"Obviously, you had an active adolescence," Spock mused,  
raising an eyebrow. "Indeed, I'm surprised that you still had time,  
after all those activities, to entertain the young women at Oak  
Manor ..."

Jim threw a pillow at him. Spock ducked, caught it expertly,  
and tossed it back. It took Jim only a second to recover from the  
return blow--he was about to throw the pillow again when Spock  
pounced on the bed, caught the pillow between their bodies and  
pinned Jim's arms down to the mattress.

"Help! I give up!" Kirk exclaimed in mock terror.  
Spock released him, unable to suppress the impulse that  
tugged at the corner of his mouth. Kirk responded, as he always did  
to the barest hint of amusement on Spock's face, with a brilliant  
smile of his own, a smile that made Spock's heart stop in its tracks.  
Jim lifted himself back up on the bed, his grin slowly fading  
to seriousness. "Spock, we've got to talk."

"I know," Spock agreed, straightening.

"You heard my conversation with Areel this afternoon."

"Yes." He looked at Kirk, who looked young and  
vulnerable, shrouded in the big white towel, his hair damp and  
tousled from the shower.

Kirk took a deep breath. He looked down at the bed briefly,  
then back up at Spock, his eyes large and candid. "Spock, this is  
how things stand. Soon, I can expect Nogura to start pressuring me  
to accept a staff position at Headquarters, and you to run a research  
station on the Outer Rim. Our only chance of getting back on a  
starship together is the Lexington."

Tension began to rise in Spock's chest. "The problem has  
two separate aspects," he offered hesitantly, the words sounding  
dull and pedantic to his own ears. "Remaining on a starship and  
remaining together."

"All right," Jim crossed and legs and sat tailor-fashion on  
the mattress. "Let's face them one at a time. First, we have to make  
it as difficult as possible for Starfleet to separate us."

Spock shifted uncomfortably. "As Ms. Shaw pointed out,  
Starfleet has no obligation to assign us both to the same location."  
Kirk lifted his chin firmly and took a deep breath. "They  
would if we were bondmates."

They stared at each other for a long moment, holding each  
other's eyes. Spock knew Kirk was serious. That was the problem.  
Even if Spock could make him understand exactly what a Vulcan  
bonding involved, he would dismiss the problems. Once Kirk  
decided that he wanted something, knowledge of the risks was  
more likely to whet his appetite than to deter him.

For a brief moment, Spock considered melding so he could  
show Kirk all the dimensions of the problem, but he rejected the  
idea. They had to sort through the issues step by step.  
He had to begin somewhere, so he started with what he  
thought was perhaps the central difference between Jim's  
assumptions and his own. "Jim, a Vulcan bonding is not something  
one enters for an -- instrumental purpose. It is not the equivalent of  
a Human contract marriage."

As soon as the words were spoken and he saw the wounded  
look in Kirk's eyes, Spock realized he had mis-stated the issue. "Do  
you think that's all I want, a temporary contract marriage? Spock, I  
thought we've been clear with each other that we have a permanent  
commitment."

Spock nodded and held Kirk's eyes for a long moment that  
affirmed that commitment. "I did not mean that. What I mean is  
that the bonding is not simply a formality like a Human marriage."

"Many Humans in life-long marriages would say their  
marriages are not just formalities,' either," Kirk said wryly. "To me,  
a bonding, or a marriage, would have great meaning--as an outward  
symbol of our inner commitment."

Spock's heart swelled to hear Kirk say those words, even as  
he struggled to make Kirk understand. "Jim, a Vulcan bonding  
permanently changes the partners."

From the expression on Kirk's face, Spock deduced he was  
responding to the word "permanent." "Mister, I didn't know you  
thought this was some casual affair." It was Kirk's command'  
voice. Spock replied with equal firmness.

"I don't, Jim, but you should know that the bonding involves  
some values that are quite foreign to your culture."

"Such as?" Kirk asked.

"For one thing, bondmates are treated legally as a single  
entity, a single person. They hold property by entireties, each  
having full possession of everything the other owns. It is a system  
not unknown in your society, but outmoded on Earth for several  
centuries."

"So what?" Kirk shrugged as though their mutual  
indifference to property and possessions was not even worth  
mentioning.

Spock continued to look at him deliberately. "Also, each  
partner assumes full liability for the responsibilities, obligations and  
civil and criminal wrongs of the other."

Kirk returned his gaze levelly. "I think we are already used  
to doing that, Spock," he replied in a steady voice. Then, lifting his  
hands impatiently, "Dammit, Spock, you're throwing up smoke  
screens. If you've got any *real* objections to being bonded to me,  
let me hear them."

Spock relaxed slightly, Jim was right; his arguments were  
smoke screens. They were not the real reasons for his hesitancy. He  
looked at Kirk for a long moment, not certain how to proceed.  
"Jim, a Vulcan bonding is not merely a symbol.' It involves  
a real, material transformation in the partners. The difference  
between a marriage and a bonding is the difference between a legal  
arrangement and a transformation in the neuro-psychological  
makeup of the partners."

Kirk looked back at him, puzzled. "I think you explained  
that when you told me about the bonding link you had with  
T'Pring--you said you had your minds locked together' so you  
would both be drawn to the same place at the time of mating. Is  
that what you mean?"

"In part," Spock nodded, drawing in a breath.

"And you think I wouldn't want our minds locked together'  
that way? Don't be silly! Spock, we've talked about the *pon farr* a  
hundred times--you know I'd never let you go through it with  
anyone else but me. And I think the idea of our both being drawn  
together at the time is--well, let's just say it's the most romantic idea  
I've ever heard."

Jim gave him a lopsided smile, and Spock knew his feelings  
were genuine. He, of all people, knew that Jim was a deeply  
romantic and emotional being. How to explain how little about the  
bonding was merely romantic'?

As he struggled to frame his response, Spock could see that  
Kirk was making a real effort to curb his impatience.

"It is true that I described the bonding as a 'locking together'  
of two minds," Spock began slowly. "That is actually a loose  
metaphor for a specific transformation in the nervous system."  
"What do you mean, a transformation?" Kirk asked,  
puzzled.

"In your psychology, perhaps the closest approximation  
would be the phenomenon of the a conditioned reflex," Spock  
replied.

Kirk's eyes were focused intently on Spock, his brows knit  
together in curiosity. "You mean that bondmates learn to respond  
to each other sexually the way a dog can be taught to salivate at the  
sound of a bell?" Obviously he remembered the old psychology  
experiments of Earth's European behaviorists.

Spock paused without nodding. "The connection is similar,  
but much deeper. In fact, it is not simply a conditioned reflex, but  
an absolute one like the sensation of hunger or thirst. Vulcan  
bondmates look to each other as the exclusive source of relief from  
the hunger of *pon farr.*"

Kirk's face lit up in a broad smile. "Sounds wonderful. It  
also sounds like a good reason for posting bondmates together."  
Spock looked down at the bed, his long fingers tracing an  
abstract pattern on the coverlet. "That is true."

"How is it done, Spock?" Kirk's curiosity reasserted itself.  
"A healer, a gifted telepath with extensive training in  
neurology, psychic techniques and the structure of the brain,  
'reaches into' the minds of the two partners and diverts the neural  
transmission paths of their minds."

Kirk drew in a deep breath in astonishment. "I had no idea.  
Have ... Vulcans always known how to do this?"

Spock looked up and shook his head. "No, but it was  
discovered several thousand years ago, when Vulcans left the  
hunting and gathering phase of economic development and began to  
live in settled communities and make their living from agriculture.  
Quite frankly, it was a technique advocated by men who wished to  
stabilize their access to women and through them, their children,  
who had become an important source of economic power in the  
new agricultural society."

"So Vulcans learned to bond only when patriarchy raised its  
ugly head," Kirk grinned. "For a telepathic people, that must have  
ranked with the discovery of fire."

"Indeed," Spock nodded calmly. "It is considered a  
historical watershed. At first the telepaths did not understand the  
scientific theory of what they were doing, of course. They were  
regarded simply as mystics and magicians in their own time. But  
they learned how to reach into the subcortical centers of the brain  
and direct the transmission of neural impulses so that the male in  
*pon farr* would perceive a single, specific partner as the only  
means of satisfying the mating drive. Once bonded, the man would  
cease to mate with the first available partner. He would  
automatically and reflexively return to the bondmate at the first sign  
of pon farr."

Despite his personal stake in the subject, Kirk's eyes were  
alive with interest. "This is the most romantic neurology lesson I've  
ever heard, Spock. But why can't the connection be formed through  
repeated experience, the way a conditioned reflex is formed among  
humans and animals?"

Spock raised an eyebrow in acknowledgment of Kirk's  
logic. "Because the bonding is different from an ordinary reflex--the  
bonding takes place at a much deeper level of the mind, one that an  
ordinary telepath can reach only with difficulty. Theoretically, it is  
possible for two persons to become bonded through repeated  
sexual experience combined with the mind-link, but it is extremely  
rare. Only a handful of cases have ever been recorded."

"Oh," Kirk shrugged the information off as a passing  
curiosity--plainly, he was eager to return to the earlier topic.  
"Spock, as you've described it, the bonding is basically a guarantee  
of sexual exclusivity, at least during the time of mating. Surely, you  
don't think that will be a ... problem for me?"

Kirk's face was open, serious; his eyes begged for  
affirmation. "Spock, you've seen ... in my mind ... how I feel ... you  
know I haven't wanted anyone else since we've ... been together.  
Don't you believe what you see?"

Spock's heart ached and he wished he could put an end to  
Kirk's distress. Instead he said, simply, "It is not that, Jim. It is  
something completely different. It is why Vulcan bondmates cannot  
serve together in combat."

Kirk stared at him in surprise. "What? That can't be right.  
What about the *Intrepid*?"

"That was an all-Vulcan ship," Spock replied. "It is the only  
exception allowed."

"What are you talking about?" Kirk's brows were knit, his  
entire body radiating tension and disbelief. "That's ridiculous!  
There's nothing like that in the personnel regulations -- I know them  
practically by heart."

Spock stared back at him in dead earnest. "The proscription  
is not in the personnel regulations. It is a matter of internal Vulcan  
law."

Seeing disbelief gave way to astonishment on Kirk's face,  
Spock went on to explain, "The treaty between Vulcan and the  
Federation that authorized Vulcans to serve in Starfleet contains a  
clause that allows Vulcans to seek exceptions from Starfleet  
personnel regulations based on Vulcan law."

Understanding lit up Kirk's face for a moment. "Oh, the  
famous reserved clause!" But his eyes clouded again in confusion.  
"But that's the provision that allows Vulcan bondmates to insist on  
being posted together, and to be granted leave on Vulcan during  
the pon farr. You're saying the provision covers other Vulcan rules  
as well?"

"Yes, it does. Its practical effect, in this case, is to exempt  
Vulcan bondmates from personnel assignments that would require  
them to serve together in combat positions."

"I've never heard of it," Kirk frowned, still struggling with  
disbelief. "But then, I never had occasion to."

"No," Spock agreed. "The provision would come into play  
only if Starfleet had sought to assign a married Vulcan couple to  
your ship, and they had invoked Vulcan law and requested the  
exemption. Given the small number of Vulcans in Starfleet, it is not  
surprising that it simply has never happened."

"I see." Kirk's face was closed and guarded, but his  
expressive eyes revealed his confusion. "And this is binding on you,  
not by Starfleet regulation, but by Vulcan law."

"Affirmative," Spock nodded tersely, aware how hard this  
was for Jim.

Abruptly, Kirk's shuttered expression broke in pain and  
denial. "But *why,* Spock?" His soft, fierce voice told Spock he  
could think of a dozen reasons, but wanted to reject all of them.  
"Jim, from what I have told you of the Vulcan bonding, how  
do you think that a Vulcan male, dependent on his bondmate for his  
very survival, would react if that person were placed in imminent  
danger?"

Kirk pursed his lips together and considered the question  
seriously. "Much as any of us would react if someone we loved  
deeply were in danger." Something in his voice challenged Spock to  
prove that a Vulcan bonding was really so different from the  
emotional bonds among Humans.

"No," Spock shook his head firmly. "Vulcans can resist  
emotional drives. So, even, can a highly disciplined Human like  
yourself."  
At that, both men allowed themselves a wry smile that  
broke the tension for a moment, but only for a moment.

"Because the pon farr is life-threatening, the Vulcan male  
has a strong, almost biologically-motivated interest in the survival  
of the bondmate," Spock continued, trying his best to sound  
dispassionate. "He develops a virtually instinctive reflect to protect  
his bondmate from harm. If his partner is in danger, he will  
experience an almost irresistible urge to rescue her--or him. He is  
likely to become incapable of taking any course of action that  
conflicts with that goal."

"You said *almost* irresistible, Spock," Kirk said hopefully,  
trying as he always did to turn logic inside out. "That means it  
*can* be resisted."

There was a moment of taut silence between them as Spock  
struggled to find the words that would dispel Kirk's facile optimism.  
"Jim, incidents are reported on Vulcan in which one partner  
has gone to the aid of the other, even at the expense of their own  
children."

Kirk was speechless for a moment. "Oh," he finally  
swallowed.

"As you can imagine," Spock continued, "we are somewhat  
... ashamed of the phenomenon. Nevertheless we have studied it,  
documented it. We have even conducted controlled experimental  
studies to verify it. The body of research attesting to the  
phenomenon is considered quite conclusive. We can even state it as  
a statistical probability."

Spock refrained from stating the numbers.  
"Does this phenomenon have a name?" Kirk asked  
curiously.

"It is called the *jarizat inqaz,* the "rescue instinct."  
Kirk's brow furrowed and he spoke carefully, weighing each  
word. "The male is ... instinctively driven to rescue the female,  
because his life is in danger in the *pon farr.* That would be ... you,  
in our case. I wouldn't be subjected to the same instinct, because  
the *pon farr* isn't a danger to me."

"The male is more strongly affected than the female,  
certainly," Spock acknowledged quietly. "However, because of the  
profound metal link between the bonded partners, the other partner  
inevitably is affected. A number of research studies have shown  
this--that although the *jarizat inqaz* is weaker among wives than  
among husbands, it is nevertheless discernible in both partners."

"Hmm." Spock could tell from the look on Kirk's face that  
he was determined to find a loophole somewhere. "But I'm not a  
Vulcan. Isn't it possible I wouldn't be affected at all?"  
"Unknown, but possible. Still, even if you were not, would  
that make a difference?"

"Spock, we've talked about this before, a hundred times. As  
a *command* problem, I trust myself to handle the emotional  
conflict our relationship creates. As long as I'm the one who is  
faced with the actual command decisions--"

"Jim." Spock interrupted firmly. "You are being too facile.  
As your First Officer, I frequently make the same command  
decisions as you, and many of them have involved your safety. Even  
without the bonding, I already have experienced serious difficulties  
in weighing your safety against other factors. As you know."  
Kirk's expression said he'd tried to maneuver his way out of  
a tight situation, failed, and was trying to accept the consequences.  
His jaw tightened, and he clenched his fists in frustration. "You  
mean, in other words, that Vulcan bondmates can serve together  
only in routine, non-hazardous assignments in which neither is in a  
decision-making role vis a vis the other?"

"Precisely."

"And this is binding on you as a Vulcan citizen? No  
loopholes, no possible out for your human half?"

"It is not binding as your Human codes and laws are, by the  
power of the state behind it, but by its underlying logic. The  
implication of the research studies have been discussed thoroughly  
among Vulcan social scientists. The policy implications for Vulcans  
serving in Starfleet were debated thoroughly in the Vulcan local  
councils as well as the High Council of Vulcan. The result was a  
consensus. And, in fact, I do agree that the decision was correct  
and that it must apply to me as it does to others."

Kirk sighed, nodded and looked down at the bed. "I  
understand, Spock, although I sure as hell don't like it."  
For a moment they sat in silence. Spock watched Kirk's  
expressive face, feeling compassion as his partner thought through  
the implications of what he had just told him.

Finally Kirk looked up at him with something like  
amusement in his eyes. "You know, Spock, there is a certain  
elegant irony in all this. The only way to guarantee we'll be assigned  
together is to bond. But unless we're unbonded, they can never  
assign us together on a starship." His mouth curved wryly. "It  
reminds me of Finagle's Fifth Law--'you have to be crazy to go into  
space. But unless your psych profiles show you are certifiably sane,  
the Fleet will never let you off the ground.'"

The tension eased and Spock responded in kind to this bit of  
Academy lore they shared in common. "Indeed, that is a familiar  
paradox. I believe it can be traced back to your Earth's twentieth  
century, where it was known at the 'Catch-22.'"

The shadows left Kirk's face and he smiled openly. "My  
ever-encyclopedic Vulcan. Sometimes I think your interests at the  
Academy were not as different from those of the other midshipmen  
as you've led me to believe."

Spock responded with an appropriate look of wounded  
dignity.

More seriously, Kirk went on, "All right. The bonding won't  
work as assurance that we'll get back on a starship together. But if  
Starfleet *does* try to separate us, it would force them, at least, to  
give us desk assignment together."

"You would be extremely unhappy in a desk assignment,"  
Spock pointed out.  
Kirk acknowledged the point with a rueful shrug. "It  
wouldn't be my first choice, that's true. But if it's a choice between  
that and losing *you*--"

Spock felt a warm urge of joy. *Oh, yes, make that choice,*  
he wanted to say aloud. But he had come too far to abandon logic  
now.

"Jim," he pointed out. "That would be the end of the life we  
have known together. Our relationship grew out of our work on the  
*Enterprise.* And I believe that you would ultimately come to feel  
resentment if you were forced to leave the work you love most  
because of me."

Jim's face shifted abruptly, and the sudden look of raw  
vulnerability tore at Spock's heart and made him want to withdraw  
his words.

"Don't you think I'd resent it even more if I were forced to  
leave *you* for my work?"

Jim's word lit an irrational glow in Spock's mind. He let his  
tense shoulders relax and nodded. They held each other's gaze for a  
long moment in silent acknowledgment of their commitment.

Finally, Spock straightened up on the bed and squared his  
shoulders, as if to throw off a burden that suddenly had become  
uncomfortable. "Spock, let's hope we never have to face that  
problem. We have a decent chance of being assigned to the  
*Lexington* together. If we aren't, we can face our options after  
that."

A tiny ray of hope died in Spock's breast--the hope that Jim  
might want the bonding for its own sake and not merely for  
expediency. He let it die, refusing to let himself feel regret. He had  
never had any reason to shelter that hope. He was determined not  
to expect of Jim what no Vulcan had any right to expect of a  
Human. But he shut that thought out of his mind when Jim  
took his hand, lifted it up from the bed and brought it to his own  
temple. Willingly, Spock positioned his hand for the mind-link. As  
the meld sprang to life between them, Jim's sincerity and  
commitment lit up his mind.

*Spock, we'll find a way to stay together, I promise.*

*And I shall do all that is in my power.*

*Please let me show how much I love you ...*

A small erotic thrill stirred in Spock's belly. He was  
suddenly very much aware of Kirk's bare skin and body, of how the  
bath had softened his skin and left it glowing pink and gold. He  
placed his free hand on Kirk' thigh and squeezed it gently. The  
curling golden hair was fine and silky under his hand, and beneath  
the softness, his flesh was firm and hard. He shivered and the  
yearning rose in his body, to press against those complex textures  
of silk and satin and muscle. And so he answered Jim by showing  
him in precise detail exactly what he wanted.

Jim grinned, and his eyes shone in anticipation.

Spock broke the meld, and Kirk took his hand as he pulled  
his fingers away, then grasped his arms and pushed him gently  
down on the bed. When Spock was lying on his back, Kirk rubbed  
his shoulders, then leaned down to nuzzle him gently with lips,  
tongue and nose in the tender places between linking neck, ears and  
chin. Each touch was a love-word in a secret language that had  
grown up between them through months of loving and learning  
what pleased the other.

Jim slipped his hands under Spock's neck and kneaded his  
scalp with strong fingers, pulled his face close to his own and into a  
kiss that was wonderfully deep and infinitely gentle. Spock opened  
himself to the kiss, savoring the taste of Jim's mouth, the blunt  
pressure of Jim's tongue curving and twisting within him.  
Every pore of his body was alive, opening to Jim. He arched  
his back in the tension of desire as Jim's other hand played with his  
nipples, combing through the hair. Each tug of the separating curls  
awakened a surge of pleasure.

He held his breath as Kirk squeezed and massaged his  
thighs, longing for the moment when he would take his swelling  
organ in his hand. Spock gasped at his own sensitivity when he was  
finally rewarded, when Kirk's strong fingers closed over his cock  
and pumped him rhythmically.

Jim slid down toward the end of the bed, slipped his hands  
under Spock's buttocks and rubbed his cheek against Spock's stiff  
cock. "You're beautiful," he whispered. As Spock groaned in an  
agony of desire, Kirk applied himself to loving the large organ,  
rooting at its base, playing at it with his tongue. Then he took it in  
his mouth, and Spock could feel his determination to swallow it  
full-length. As impossible as that seemed, Jim nearly did it--taking  
him in, sucking, squeezing Spock's cock with the muscles of his  
mouth and throat until Spock felt he would  
dissolve into the bed with pleasure.

It was all Spock could do to reach down and try to  
disengage them. Another moment and he'd come in Jim's  
mouth--and as delightful as that prospect was, he had something  
else in mind. Jim looked up, examined the fruits of his own labor  
with a carefully appraising eye, and gave him one of his most  
winning smiles. "Don't worry, I heard what you said in the  
mind-link. Ready?"

Spock turned over on his stomach and muttered something  
inarticulate into the pillow. Jim rose with a single swift movement,  
and Spock thrust his hips upward, hungry to make contact.  
"Wait--wait, Spock," Kirk whispered. He got up and fished  
in his suitcase for the lubricating device he'd brought along and  
quickly returned to the bed. Gently, thoroughly, he began to  
massage Spock's buttocks. He pressed some of the slick fluid up  
inside Spock and returned to the massage, melting him, relaxing  
him until Spock's muscles felt like liquid wax.

When Spock's nerve endings could no longer tell where his  
own body ended and Jim's began, Jim pressed softly into him, the  
tip of his cock cool and firm and wonderful. Spock was eager for  
the pressure, the sweet stretching and contracting of the muscles of  
his own body, the intimate sensation of Jim alive and throbbing  
within him. He sighed hungrily as Jim pushed in, all the way in, and  
began to move, long velvety strokes that made him ache with  
pleasure.

Jim moved one hand back and forth on Spock's cock, the  
other gently squeezed his testicles, the motion of his hands  
matching the rhythm of his thick cock's thrusting inside Spock.  
Fluidly, effortlessly, Jim reached up into him, reaching for the core  
of tautness somewhere deep inside him, probing, unlocking door  
after door until he reached the final threshold of tension.

And then he crossed it, and released the damned-up core of  
energy there at the center of Spock's being, let it flood out and fill  
Spock's body with brightness, until Spock felt himself dissolve into  
light, his body melting into the twin pools of semen, the one that  
flooded his ass and the one that spread under his belly.

Jim lay damp and shaking on his back, awkwardly trying to  
share the hair out of his eyes and kiss Spock's shoulder at the same  
time. "That was wonderful," he gasped happily when he'd recovered  
enough to speak. Ad he rolled off to lie down at Spock's side and  
hug him.

"Mmm," muttered Spock, too contented to speak. All he  
had energy for was to hug Jim back and let himself drift off to sleep  
on a wave of utter contentment.

***************************

When Spock awoke, he was alone in the bed. The light in  
the room was golden and hazy, and faint early-morning Earth  
sounds drifted in the open window: the rustle of leaves, the twitter  
of birds, the scurrying of a small animal. A far-off bird song made a  
descant in the background. He concentrated on the sonorous notes,  
trying to find a pattern in them.

Suddenly his musical analysis was interrupted by the 'thwap'  
of a tennis ball on the side of the house. He sat up in the bed. More  
'thwaps' followed in rapid succession.

Spock peered out the window and groaned. Jim, clad in  
shorts and T-shirt, was playing with an automatic serving machine  
set on the highest setting. He sank down in the bed again; the mere  
sight of Jim chasing the flurry of balls exhausted him, He wondered  
how Jim could display so much energy early in the morning,  
especially on a weekend they had dedicated to "rest." But then, he  
and Jim never had agreed on the meaning of "rest."

Abruptly, the sound of tennis balls stopped and he heard the  
sound of a door opening. Jim must have gone inside. Minutes later,  
he heard the unmistakable sound of Jim, bounding up the staircase,  
and then the door opened and Jim was in the bedroom, carrying a  
trayful of tea, juice, steaming rolls and butter.

"Breakfast in bed?" Spock was surprised by the unnecessary  
effort. Kirk sat down on the bed and handed him the tray. "How did  
you know I had awakened?"

"Intuition," Kirk grinned fondly, leaning down to ruffle his  
hair and kiss the tip of an ear. "As for breakfast in bed, you need to  
conserve your energy. Tonight it'll be your turn to do the work."  
After breakfast, they decided to install Maggie's power  
cable. A few carefully-worded calls to Central Power and Light told  
Kirk where the chief administrator could be found. When the  
administrator realized who Kirk was, he was all apologies for the  
fact that the cable hadn't been installed sooner. The installation and  
maintenance crew didn't work on weekends, and the administrator's  
relief was palpable when Kirk offered to do the installation himself.

Jim and Spock went down to the utility company's offices in  
Maggie' aircar, picked up the equipment and had it installed by  
noon. Maggie kept them company while they worked, admiring  
their easy coordination. "That's one thing your father and I never  
shared," she told Jim ruefully, "we never worked together--we  
couldn't even *understand* each other's work."

After lunch Maggie decided to go into town to pick up the  
provisions for Kirk's spaghetti supper. Jim proposed to Spock that  
they visit one of Kirk' old friends who lived within walking distance.  
Jim had gone to secondary school with John Reid, but

John's roots in Iowa were deeper than Jim's, and he shared none of  
the restlessness that sent Jim off into space. After finishing his  
doctorate, he'd gone to work for the Center for Applied Medical  
Electronics, where Maggie worked.

John was expecting them and came down the sidewalk past  
the swings and children's toys that cluttered the deep front lawn to  
meet them. He and Jim greeted each other warmly. A very pregnant  
woman wearing a loose, filmy dress opened the door and walked  
heavily down the steps to join them, and a tiny dynamo with golden  
hair dashed from behind her mother's back and flung herself into  
Kirk's arms.

"Jessica?" Kirk grinned up at John.

"Yup. She'll be three next month. Considering she's never  
met you before, that's quite a welcome."

"Obviously very accomplished socially. And pretty--I see  
she takes after her mother." Julie had almost caught up with her  
daughter by now, and Kirk reached over and kissed her on the  
cheek. "John, Julie, this is Spock, who was my First Officer on the  
*Enterprise.*"

John directed them all to the back porch for tea and  
lemonade. Their warmth made Spock feel at ease, but the domestic  
surroundings made him vaguely uneasy for some reason he could  
not quite define.

"When's the baby due?" Kirk asked after they'd all sat down.  
"Any minute now," said John. He and Julie exchanged  
glances. Julie was smiling happily, but John's mouth curved in a wry  
smile. "And when it arrives, *I* have to go back to work."

"So you're taking parental leave in shifts?" Kirk queried,  
sipping his lemonade.  
Julie nodded. "Every six months, we alternate. I can't leave  
my job for more than that at a stretch."

"It's too short," John said ruefully. "I just finished  
organizing a playgroup for Jessie and her friends, and now my leave  
is over."

Just then Jessica emerged from the back door with a  
wagonful of toys and headed determinedly in Kirk's direction. She  
pulled the overloaded wagon up beside him and began to unload it  
piece by piece, explaining as she did what each toy was and how  
she's acquired it. Kirk was amused at how seriously she took the  
project.

"She's very articulate for her age," he commented.

"She likes you," John replied. "I can see you still have your  
old touch with women." He and Julie exchanged smiles. Kirk,  
looking a little embarrassed, occupied himself listening to Jessica's  
lecture. Finally, after she'd finished and was deciding whether to  
load up the wagon again, he swooped her up and bounced her on  
his knee in an old Earth chant that had something to do with horses  
and riders. The little girl shrieked with laughter, and John and Julie  
looked at them in amusement.

"It's time you settled down, Jim," John said, his voice light  
but not really joking. Kirk looked uncomfortable, and Spock could  
see that he was avoiding John's eyes--and Spock's own.

They talked about the *Enterprise,* and Jim and John  
caught up on news of mutual friends. Spock had a surprisingly  
enjoyable conversation with Julie, a hazardous waste engineer,  
about hydrogeology.

Finally Jim stood up to go. John and Julie were coming to  
supper that evening, so they'd see each other later. Jim and Spock  
said their goodbyes and set off in the direction of the town's small  
central square.

They walked in silence for a few minutes. The visit had left  
Spock strangely unsettled. It did not seem appropriate to compare  
John and Julie with himself and Jim, yet he felt almost envious of  
their marriage, the warmth and security he had felt in their home.  
His parents' marriage had the solidity and stability of a  
typical Vulcan bonding, but in spite of his mother's influence, he did  
not think his father was capable of the emotional depth of many  
Human marriages. His relationship with Jim had emotional depth,  
but stability and security could never be part of life on a starship.  
Spock thought back to those rare, coveted moments they  
spent alone on the *Enterprise* and what they meant for him: joy,  
comfort, relief--and always, the ever-present shadow of danger and  
death hanging over them like a sword of Damocles. It was hard for  
him not to feel cheated--although he knew Jim did not feel that  
way--when they *could* so easily have both the emotional depth  
and the bedrock stability and mental sharing of a Vulcan bonding.  
They walked in silence for a moment longer, neither taking  
the first move to break the uncomfortable silence between them.  
Suddenly, as they turned a corner, Kirk's face lit up. "Spock, please  
come with me to one of my old haunts," he urged as he led Spock  
in the direction of a small shop in the middle of the block.  
Kirk's old haunt turned out to be a store called 'Annie's Old  
Fashioned Homemade Ice Cream Parlor,' and Kirk opened the door  
enthusiastically. "Spock, they have the best ice cream this side of  
the Rocky Mountains, and it's all fresh, natural and vegetarian. Let's  
go in and cool off."

Kirk led him to a counter where they stood on an ancient  
wooden floor and stared at the vast array of different flavors of ice  
cream, and of candies, nuts, mints and sauces intended to serve as  
accompaniments. Jim happily chose an impossibly rich dish  
composed of buttered almond and rum raisin ice cream with mocha  
fudge sauce. He waited in eager anticipation to see whatSpock  
would choose, then pretended to look wounded when Spock  
ordered a more conservative confection of lemon yoghurt with  
berries on top.

"Spock, I'm sure that will taste delicious, and it's certainly  
good for you," Kirk protested as they headed toward a table in the  
least crowded part of the store, "but you're making me feel guilty.  
Eating a rich dessert is practically *required* at Annie's."

"Jim, I feel compelled to point out that a dish like that--" he  
nodded toward Kirk's fudge-drenched concoction--"provides  
approximately the same number of calories as a full meal."

Kirk favored him with a brilliant smile, and for a moment, as  
they sat down with their ice cream dishes at the small round table,  
the differences between them were what they always had been, a  
source of perpetual fascination and delight.

But the moment evaporated, and an awkward silence settled  
between them again as Kirk resolutely tackled his ice cream and  
Spock sampled the berries politely. Finally, Kirk looked up at him,  
squared his shoulders, and broke the silence.

"Spock, we didn't resolve anything last night, did we?"  
Spock put his spoon down, not altogether surprised by the  
abrupt change of subject. "No," he replied slowly.

Kirk look down and toyed with his dessert, drawing a  
pattern in the mixture of ice cream and fudge. "What you told me  
last night was--shattering, Spock. I thought the bonding was a  
simple way for us to win and force Nogura to let us stay together.

Last night I learned it's hardly that simple."  
The pain in Kirk's eyes made Spock's heart contract in his  
side. "Jim, the fault is mine for not telling you earlier about the  
*jarizat inqaz*--"

Kirk hunched over the table and shook his head grimly.  
"No, no, Spock. We had just never talked about the bonding  
before. It was my fault for being so dense as to think it didn't  
matter, that it was just a formality we could get around to when we  
felt like it. God, I feel like such a chauvinist!"

"No, Jim, you are not." Spock placed his hand over Kirk's  
on the table and squeezed it gently. Kirk looked up at him, his  
mouth quirked in a half-smile of pleasure. Spock knew he loved the  
rare occasions when Spock showed affection in public. He turned  
his palm up and squeezed Spock's slender hand in his own.

"Spock," he said ruefully, as he released Spock's hand, "It  
feels as though you and I and Nogura are in one of the oddest  
triangles ever created."

Spock raised his eyebrows quizzically at the strange  
metaphor. "How so?"

Kirk tipped his chair back on two legs, releasing some of his  
tight-wound tension. "Until last night I thought it was the two of us  
against Nogura. Now it's seems we're at odds with each other, too.  
Nogura thinks our relationship should preclude us from serving on  
a starship together. You agree with him that our relationship poses  
a risk, and that if we were bonded, it would be an absolute barrier."  
He attempted a wry smile, but the curve of his lips did not reach his  
eyes.

Spock set his spoon down and grimaced. "It is disconcerting  
to be on the same side as Nogura. Yet, you are correct and I do in  
essence agree with him."

They stared at each other for a long moment.  
Finally, Kirk brought his chair forward again with a thud.

"Spock, if we were bondmates, and I took a job at Headquarters,  
they'd have to offer you a posting there too. If you wanted it.  
Would you?"

"Why would I not?" Spock asked warily, unsure where the  
conversation was leading.

Kirk looked back at him squarely. "Spock, there are no pure  
research jobs at Starfleet Headquarters. You could be a scientific  
bureaucrat, perhaps, but you know even better than I do that it's no  
place for a research scientist."

Spock shrugged his shoulders. "I managed to combine  
research with administration on the *Enterprise,*" he replied  
noncommittally.

"Bull," Kirk replied testily. "On the *Enterprise,* you were  
working on the frontiers of scientific knowledge in your field. You  
weren't a bureaucrat."

"Starfleet headquarters *is* essentially an administrative  
center," Spock replied carefully. His face said, *if you were willing  
to take a job as an administrator, for me to do the same would be a  
small price to pay for our remaining together.*

Kirk's mind was on his own train of thought, and he did not  
read the look on Spock's face. "And what about the social  
environment at Headquarters? Do you think you could stand  
interacting with people like Nogura and Rao day after day?  
Remember, as an Admiral, my time--and my social life--wouldn't be  
my own."

Spock stiffened. It was true, the thought of being part of the  
Admirals' world, with their talk of arms superiority and interest  
rates, chilled his soul. At times he would like to consign the entire  
Starfleet bureaucracy to some other universe entirely.  
But he had no separate universe that he and Jim could  
retreat to. All he had was logic. So again, he tried to attack their  
problem logically. "Any choice we make will have disadvantages,"  
he began awkwardly, embarrassed at how weak his voice sounded.

Jim looked up at him intently, waiting for him to go on.  
Again, silence hung between them for a beat.  
Finally, when Spock did not continue, Kirk picked up his  
spoon again and toyed with his  
ice cream. "Of course," he offered almost casually, if we were  
bondmates and you chose to accept  
the assignment on the Outer Rim, they'd have to assign me there,  
too."

Spock started. Was Jim serious? Or had he said this as an  
afterthought, out of fairness to him? "What would you do at a  
research station on the Outer Rim?" he asked gently. Kirk stirred  
the ice cream in his dish, now melted down into an undifferentiated  
gray puddle. He smiled, a small ironic smile, and Spock could feel  
the sadness radiating from him. "I don't know," he said simply.

There was a long pause as they looked at each other  
silently, not knowing what to say next. Finally Kirk pushed his dish  
back and let his hands fall to the table, palms up in a gesture of  
supplication.

"Spock, I wish you'd tell me what you want," he sighed in  
frustration. "We've been talking a lot about what *I* want--another  
starship command--as though it's a preference we both share. But  
maybe it isn't."

Spock's shoulders stiffened. This was precisely the issue  
he'd been trying to avoid. He did not want to tread those dangerous  
waters, not openly, not now when Jim hurt so much from the loss  
of the *Enterprise.*

Distantly, he said, "II have been trying to consider the  
alternatives in logical fashion."

Kirk's body tightened in frustration. He turned his hands  
over and gripped the end of the table. "Spock, I feel too strongly to  
be logical about this. I want to stay with you and I want to go on  
commanding a starship. I want both. I want them with every fiber  
of my soul. But if I don't know what *you* want, I can't know  
where we stand, can I?"

Spock flinched. Kirk was right. He nodded, mutely.  
Kirk's eyes softened, and he let the tension in his shoulders  
dissolve. "Spock, I know, I know--you're trying to be rational, and  
I'm not." He sighed wearily. "Oh, hell, let's go somewhere where  
we can talk properly.

****************************

A dilapidated old road--a relic of the days when people used  
roads for transportation--skirted the borders of the agrocomplex on  
the edge of the town. The two men walked slowly along the  
cracked, grass-grown asphalt, over the crest of a hill, and then Jim  
led them off the road to a tree-lined copse at the foot of a hill.

"We used to play here all the time when we were kids," Jim  
told him, flopping down n his back on the grass. "It made a perfect  
hideout, 'cause nobody ever bothered us." Spock followed his lead  
more gingerly, making sure he was not going to encounter a nettle  
or a honeybee before he allowed himself to sit.

Curiously, he examined the strange vegetation around them:  
white filigreed Queen Anne's lace, exotic milkweed pods bursting  
with silky down, thistles with their soft, shaggy indigo flowers. A  
yellow butterfly drifted by on effortless wings. For once, Jim knew  
the variety, he did not.

Jim reached up and stroked his cheek fondly. "You are ever  
the scientist, Spock."

"The vegetation here is extremely rich," Spock muttered,  
studying the drops of white fluid that seeped from a broken  
milkweed stem.

"I'll bet you could spent a lifetime studying it." Jim took his  
hand gently and lifted it from the grass to hold it in his own.

The cool, firm touch struck a deep chord of pleasure within  
him, and he looked back at Jim, one eyebrow raised. "At least a  
lifetime."

Jim squeezed his hand. "The hell with Starfleet, the  
Admiralty, the *Lexington* and the Outer Rim, then. Let's stay  
right here."

Spock's heart thudded ridiculously, so hard he had to turn  
his face away, afraid his expression would betray him. "It is warmer  
here than in San Francisco," he said irrelevantly.  
Jim nodded, "Almost as warm as Vulcan. But you'd have to  
hibernate in the winter."

"Actually, I would prefer to stay awake," Spock answered  
drily.

Kirk pulled himself up by Spock's hand and leaned toward  
him. "What would you do without your computers? I doubt there's  
enough power in all of Riverside to run the equipment you're used  
to having at your beck and call."

Spock hook his head ruefully. "My computers. And your  
command."

He had not meant to sound bitter, but Kirk's eyes clouded  
over, and he was silent for several moments. Finally, he looked  
directly at Spock and said, "I need you too, you know."

Spock nodded, looking down at his hand, still holding  
Kirk's. "I know."

"You're probably going to tell me now that both needs are  
equally illogical."

The words pricked a schoolboy memory somewhere deep in  
the recesses of Spock's mind, and a corner of his mouth curved  
infinitesimally.

"Why're you smiling?" Kirk asked, puzzled. Spock looked at  
him quizzically. Only Jim would read that gesture as a smile.

"You reminded me of a well-known problem in Vulcan  
logic, the Paradoxes of T'Nira," he replied, his mouth still curving.

"Oh? And who was she?"

"A philosopher of the fourth century after Surak. She noted  
that the concept of 'need' generates a series of logical paradoxes."

"Explain," asked Jim, his curiosity piqued.

"In your language," Spock began, crossing his legs beneath  
him, "The word 'need' is ambiguous--it can refer to that which is  
subjectively desired--what a person wishes to have--or that which is  
objectively necessary, like food and drink. Some Earth languages  
attempt to assign these different meanings to two different words,  
but inevitably the associations of one will color the meaning of the  
other."

Kirk leaned back on an elbow and toyed with a piece of  
grass, surveying Spock. "Yes, I suppose that is paradoxical."

"Several paradoxes exist, actually--a whole series of them.  
The First Paradox is that while we cannot equate what is  
objectively necessary with that which any single person subjectively  
desires, nevertheless it would be illogical to equate that which is  
necessary with something that *no one* desires."

"In other words, what is logical is *illogical* if no one  
wants it."

Spock raised an eyebrow at Kirk's rephrasing of the  
argument, but he continued without further comment.

"The Second Paradox is that the necessity of the part, and  
the necessity of the whole, each presuppose the other."

"A vicious circle? The chicken and the egg?" Kirk propped  
his head on his hand, his eyes following Spock intently.

Spock leaned forward so that his elbows rested on his  
knees. He steepled his fingers, trying to be precise. "Not exactly. It  
is a problem of logical rather than of temporal priority. What is  
logical is so only with respect to a particular purpose; but purpose  
is always the intention of an individual mind. "Purpose" cannot exist  
in general, in the abstract, without individual intention. The paradox  
is that we cannot know what is 'necessary' for the whole unless we  
know what each *part* of the whole intends. And yet, without a  
knowledge of the whole, it is impossible for the individual to form a  
logical purpose."

Kirk smiled and stretched his bare legs. "I can think of a  
way out of the vicious circle, Spock. That is, to recognize that  
logical necessity may very well be a product of a lot of illogical  
desires."

"Perhaps," Spock shrugged. "But that would be absurd."

"Would it?" Kirk asked lightly, a little sadly.

There was a long pause. Kirk looked up at the sky as  
though collecting his thoughts. Suddenly he sat up straight, turned  
forcefully to Spock and cut through Spock's abstractions to their  
actual, if unspoken subject.

"Spock ... you've always given me logical, hard-headed  
recommendations whenever I've had a tough decision to make.  
Now I need to know what logic says we should do. Should we ...  
become bondmates--or not?"  
Spock straightened and sat rigidly. "What I have been trying  
to say, Jim, is that I do not think a logical answer to that question  
exists. Or rather--that what is logical for me may not be logical for  
you."

"What do you mean?" Kirk asked, puzzled, gazing intently  
at Spock's face.

Spock had to look away from him then, up through the  
trees at an astonishingly three-dimensional tower of clouds  
suspended majestically over them in the deep inverted bowl of Iowa  
sky. "For one thing," he answered roughly, "Vulcans do not bond  
for--expediency."

He had to say it, whatever Kirk's reaction. But Kirk merely  
nodded and looked down at the grass for a long moment. "I never  
thought they did," he said with deceptive mildness, his face hidden.  
There was a longer pause as Spock tried to subdue the ache  
in his throat and it was apparent that Kirk was struggling with his  
own strong feelings and inhibitions.

Finally, Kirk spoke again. "Spock, you *want* the bonding,  
don't you?"

Spock looked away and nodded, simply, not wanting to  
look at him.

"You'd choose it, wouldn't you, even though it would mean  
never serving with me again, never working together on a  
starship--"

Again, Spock nodded, his mouth curved wryly,  
acknowledging the strangeness of speaking so candidly about his  
own irrational needs--or desires; it no longer mattered what one  
called them.

Kirk fingered a spray of Queen Anne's lace, wondering what  
to say next. Finally he clutched at the plant and tore it out by the  
roots. "You probably think I'm incredibly selfish and arrogant to  
want to have it both ways."

Spock shook his head a little sadly. "No. Your needs are no  
more nor less rational than mine. Besides, how could I expect you  
to desire the bonding? Your culture has no experience of it. You  
cannot know what it is, much less make a reasoned decision for or  
against it."

Kirk threw the tattered plant down, hard. "I've thought  
about it. I've tried to imagine it. I can understand a little of what it  
must be like, from knowing you ...."

"Perhaps." Spock's voice sounded enigmatic to his own  
ears, perhaps more so than he had intended. Kirk looked at him  
earnestly, as though he feared that Spock did not take him  
seriously.

"Spock, I do want that closeness with you. I want that  
commitment. But ..." he hesitated and gestured helplessly.

"But you cannot be a starship captain forever," Spock  
supplied for him. Kirk's eyes widened slightly, then flickered  
acknowledgment. He looked down at the grass as Spock continued.

"It is quite understandable that you should wish to take advantage  
of the time you have left in active duty."

Kirk shrugged. "It's true."

Spock went on, trying to sound matter-of-fact. "If we  
succeed in receiving another starship assignment together, we  
could, if you would like, consider the bonding later, after we are no  
longer able to serve in line positions."

He wasn't sure whether the thought owed more to Vulcan  
logic or Human compromise, but Kirk only sighed and looked at  
him morosely.

"Bonding when you'll be taking care of me in old age,  
Spock, that's no bargain."

Spock shook his head firmly. "I am merely trying to be  
practical."

Kirk nodded fiercely. "You are. You are. But it wouldn't be  
fair to you. Oh, dammit, Spock. You're right. I can only command a  
ship *now.* If I don't get another command this time around, I'll  
never have anther chance."

"*Carpe diem,*" muttered Spock.  
"Something like that."

Spock looked at him, all the old anguish of unsatisfied  
desire welling up in his breast again, the yearning he thought he'd  
laid to rest when he and Jim had first made love. It was a desire that  
required the union of the flesh, but flesh alone could not satisfy it.

Looking at Jim, his eyes captured what his body and even his mind  
could not: his vitality, his completeness. Like some Earth-god of  
field and forest he seemed to blend with, to rise out of the grass, the  
trees and sky around them, with his tawny hair, his eyes turning  
chameleon-like to green under the deep blue sky.

Other scenes, not of Earth, leaped out of his memory: of  
Jim on the *Enterprise,* superbly in tune with his ship, leaving the  
stamp of his leadership everywhere. Confident in his command  
chair. Running down the corridors in a crisis, every nerve taut and  
controlled. The quick-blazing anger at what he could *not* control.  
The moments of relief and laughter, of hard play after harder work.  
And the times of horror and despair and grief ... Spock had known  
him more fully than he had ever dreamed or hoped, but no touch of  
his could grasp, no embrace contain, that wholehearted pouring out  
of energy, of life.

Yet knowing that, he still reached out to him, grasped his  
muscular arms and gently, gradually, tilted him back until he lay on  
the grass. Jim returned his gaze silently, anticipation lightening his  
green-gold eyes, but he said nothing.

That nameless yearning made Spock lean down to seek  
Kirk's mouth, and it opened willingly. The grass and weeds pricked  
his bare legs as he lay down beside him, folded his arms around the  
broad shoulders. Jim hugged him back tightly, and Spock probed  
his mouth, the contrast of lush, rough-smooth textures against his  
own sensitive tongue leaving him nearly breathless.

But the kiss did not yield the communion he sought.  
Impetuously, he tugged at Kirk's tight shirt and pulled it up until  
he'd exposed the nipple. He bent to suck the pink-gold flesh,  
intoxicated by the scent and taste of it. Relentlessly, still hampered  
by the shirt, his hands and mouth explored as much as he could,  
until Jim finally unfastened the resisting garment himself and flung  
it over his head in a single swift movement.

Spock pressed their bodies together, excited by the feel of  
Kirk's chest, now beginning to rise and fall more rapidly. He moved  
so that he was lying on top of Kirk, and thrust his now-swollen  
genitals against his groin. It was not enough. He reached between  
their bodies for the opening of Kirk's shorts and pulled at the fabric  
with tentative fingers, torn between desire and discretion. He  
wanted to thrust his hand under the waistband, to touch the smooth  
naked flesh, to feel it swell under his caress. Still more, he wanted  
to free it from the confining garment.

His eyes questioned Kirk, but Kirk caught his hand and held  
it where it was. "Don't stop," he whispered, "We've plenty of  
privacy here." As Spock fumbled awkwardly with the clasp, Kirk  
thrust his body impatiently against him. Finally Spock found the  
opening, and Jim's cock burst free, springy now in arousal. Spock  
squeezed it, claiming Kirk's mouth again, filling it with his tongue  
as he longed to fill his body.

Jim was trying to remove Spock's clothes, and Spock  
paused a moment to cooperate, kicking off his shorts, throwing off  
his shirt and shorts. A tug at Jim's open short and briefs removed  
the last barriers between them, and with a sigh Spock sank down  
and molded their bodies together, matched them, limb for limb,  
wrapped his long legs around Jim's shorter, sturdier ones, trapped  
his swelling cock tight against his belly and pressed his own stiff  
organ against it. Jim groaned, threw his head back, and dug his  
fingers into Spock's shoulders.

"Meld us ..." he gasped through lips swollen with desire.

"Not yet," Spock whispered fiercely. "The meld will be  
deeper if I initiate it at a higher peak of sexual energy."  
Jim could do no more than shake his head helplessly,  
squeezing his shoulders, waiting for Spock to act.

With an effort, Spock lifted himself from Kirk's chest and  
moved down to his loins. Kirk's cock was huge and hard in arousal.  
Spock grasped his thighs and pushed them apart to make room for  
his head, then bent and took Kirk in his mouth.

A great shudder ran through Kirk's body and as he gasped  
with pleasure, Spock felt his orgasm gathering, powerfully. He  
lifted his head, his hands still pressing against Kirk's thighs. "Jim,  
please try to hold back," he implored hoarsely.

Kirk swallowed and clenched his teeth. "I'll try," he gasped  
ruefully, "but you're not making it any easier."

Bending again to Kirk's body, Spock, massaged the soft  
inner flesh of the muscular thighs with one hand and grasped the  
thick ornate cock in the other. He tongued the velvety head  
carefully, skillfully, circling it, pressing against the tip, testing its  
resilience, thrusting the tip of his tongue into the tiny opening.

A part of him could go on loving Jim like this forever. But  
then the single drop of semen welled up and he sucked it greedily,  
wanting to swallow more, to devour all of Kirk.

He seized Jim's thighs in both hands and pulled him up,  
lifted him so that he was almost perpendicular to the ground,  
wanting the deepest possible joining. The heat of arousal beat hard  
in his veins as he tongued the opening, positioned his cock,  
watched Jim stiffen and then will himself to relax and accept the  
pain of entry. He went into him slowly, too slowly, for Jim was  
awkwardly trying to push up against him to hasten his penetration,  
to push in deeper.

He thrust in as far as he could and Jim sighed, his tight flesh  
contracting around Spock in a deep tremor of desire. Grasping  
Kirk's cock, Spock moved within him, fitting their bodies  
together--and because it was still not close enough, he bent his head  
down ad took Jim's cock in his mouth, completing the circuit.

He opened the meld then, when their bodies were joined as  
deeply as separate flesh could join. The mind-link was so strong and  
required so much of his energy that for a moment he thought he  
could not sustain it, but Jim's mind pulled him in like a magnet.

Willing, accepting, Spock opened to Jim everything he'd  
ever known or thought, all he'd ever been. And he felt himself  
drawn into Jim's mind, down through all the levels of consciousness  
and beyond, through subconscious layers of forgotten memories,  
drives and instincts--down to the very bedrock of Jim's sheer primal  
energy, to the level of the collective unconscious itself.

When the orgasm came, it was as though he had ceased to  
be himself and had become Jim--or rather, as though they had both  
merged with everything in nature around them, had expanded to  
become one with the clouds soaring overhead and the dense earth  
beneath, the earth that hummed with the sounds of a thousand life  
forms.

It was the deepest meld they had ever had, that Spock had  
ever had with anyone.

Afterwards, they lay together silently on the grass, as still as  
the shimmering mid-afternoon sunlight that surrounded them.  
Spock nestled his head in the hollow of Kirk's shoulder, and Kirk  
stroked his hair peacefully. Finally Kirk spoke. "That was ...  
awesome."

Spock held him in silent agreement.

"Would it always be like that, if we were bonded, Spock?"

Spock raised his face from Kirk's shoulder and looked down  
at him. "It is said that the bonding changes the quality of sexual  
relations," he said quietly. "The word for sex between a bonded  
couple, *na'rif al-kull,* means literally,  
'when-one-knows-the-whole.'"

Kirk sighed deeply. "Well, I hope we'll have a chance to test  
that someday. If it turns out to be anything like what we just  
experienced, the words would be very accurate."

Someday. Spock laid his head back down on Kirk's  
shoulder, heavily. They had reached a decision that afternoon, they  
had made a choice, however *sub silentio.* They would not  
become bondmates, not until Jim could never again command a  
starship.

***************************

They lay together in the grass until the lengthening shadows  
signaled that the afternoon was growing late. Kirk sat up with a  
sigh of regret. "We'd better go home and get ready for the party."  
They dressed and retraced their steps back to town, hand in hand,  
unwilling to let go of each other.

  
Back in Kirk' home, Jim went straight to the kitchen where  
Maggie had left the groceries and was soon cooking up the  
spaghetti sauces by hand, claiming this method was "more  
authentic" than using the electronic equipment. Spock and Maggie  
offered to help, but Jim refused all offers and insisted that they relax  
and keep him company in the kitchen instead. So the two of them  
sat together at the kitchen table while Jim hovered over the stove.

They still had much catching up to do. They talked for the  
rest of the afternoon about the *Enterprise* and the five-year  
mission, and Maggie alternated tales about Jim's childhood with  
questions about Vulcan and Spock.

The evening passed comfortably and companionably. The  
aroma of the food stimulated even Spock's well-controlled appetite:  
a heady sauce of fresh tomatoes, roasted garlic and long hot  
peppers; another redolent with wild mushrooms and wine; still  
another made of fresh herbs with the pungent tang of licorice and a  
cheese with the fragrance of a sun-warmed Italian meadow. The  
softness in Spock's belly was a pleasant aftereffect of the sex he and  
Jim had had together, a reminder of something profoundly deep and  
shared, almost as though an invisible umbilicus were attached to his  
body, connecting him to Jim. The memory of that uncommon  
intimacy stayed at the back of his mind, fertile and sustaining, as  
though by it he had tapped into some new source of life-giving  
energy.

Later, Jim's friends came in groups of twos and threes, and  
Jim relaxed thoroughly in their company. He drew Spock easily into  
the group, making him feel completely included. And when he felt  
Jim's hand tighten over his own, resting on the arm of a chair, or  
when Jim unself-consciously put an arm around his waist as they  
talked with the others, Spock felt utterly certain that, bonding or  
no, they belonged together in the very nature of things, so  
naturally that no force in the galaxy could separate them for long.

Later that night, before they went to sleep, they talked  
strategy. Spock had a great deal of leave accumulated, and no  
pressing duties at Headquarters once the debriefing was finished.  
His parents were pressing him to return to Vulcan for a long visit.  
He planned to spend the time he needed with a Vulcan healer who  
could help him learn to cope with the emotional stress their  
relationship had begun to create for him during the last six months  
on the *Enterprise.* If he left now, while the Outer Rim mission  
was being staffed, he could neatly avoid having to commit himself  
to the job.

"Spock, hundred of scientists are competing for the job,"  
Jim told him as they lay next to each other in Jim's room, talking in  
the darkness to the soft shushing of the trees outside in the humid,  
starlit Iowa night. "It's a real plum. And the Department of Solar  
Research has locked horns with Starfleet over which agency gets to  
make the appointment. It's become a turf issue, and you're Nogura's  
choice."

"Quite logically," Spock murmured into Jim's shoulder, "in  
view of my qualifications and, of course, the fact that I am the only  
Vulcan available for the job."

Jim rolled him over, ruffled his hair and gave him a gentle  
swat on the behind. "It's a good thing hey don't assign jobs on the  
basis of your singular Vulcan modesty, mister," he said sternly, but  
Spock could see his fond smile in the dark. "Anyway, the fact that  
Starfleet is pushing you for the job automatically makes you  
somewhat suspect to DSR. Probably the decision will be a  
compromise made by committee. And if you happen to be  
incommunicado in the middle of some Vulcan desert while they're  
making the decision--well, it will be that much easier for them to  
settle on someone else."

Spock gave a sigh of mock resignation. "I suppose there is a  
certain logic in your reasoning," he agreed, "although the process  
by which Humans compromise their irrational differences is  
generally just as illogical as the differences themselves. It would be  
so much more logical--and efficient--simply to choose the best  
person for the job."

"Well, for once, you can be grateful for our illogic."

***********************************

A week later, as they lay together again, this time in Kirk's  
quarters at the starbase, Spock's neatly packed bags rested by the  
door, ready to depart for Vulcan. Because it was their last evening  
together, and because Spock's ship would leave in the middle of the  
night, they indulged in the uncommon luxury of making love right  
after dinner. The cool mist of early evening made Spock's skin  
tingle as they walked back to the officers' complex from the  
restaurant where they'd gone to dine. Unabashedly, Spock reached  
for Jim just as soon as the door of Jim's apartment closed behind  
them. Jim was easily aroused, as he always was when Spock took  
the initiative with him, and they tumbled happily into bed. For  
awhile Spock thought of savoring the simple sexual pleasure of a  
purely human mating, but even as he bent to Jim's body, savoring  
the taste of the warm, plump sac and the smooth stippled shaft,  
swelling under his touch like ripe fruit, the need to join minds  
overcame him after all.

Later, Spock's inner time sense woke him, although he had  
set an alarm for midnight just in case. Actually, they had not  
intended to fall asleep at all, but the meld had been intense and  
exhausting.

He had opened himself utterly to Jim, had shown him the  
paralyzing fear, the crushing sense of desolation that crippled him  
whenever Jim was in danger, and the searing shame he felt  
afterwards and letting those emotions immobilize him. At first, he  
was unsure whether he ought to show all that to Jim, but the meld  
took over and he could not have hidden it, even if he had tried.  
He felt a wave of shock from Jim's mind--shock, denial and  
resistance. *Spock, how could I have done this to you!*

*--YOU have not. The fault is mine, not yours.*

Jim struggled to accept that Spock, his logical, superbly  
controlled Vulcan, had really been shaken to the roots by loving  
him, that he had experienced the instability and emotional chaos  
Spock had shown him. Spock was not surprised that Jim had such  
difficulty accepting it. Although Jim was a deeply emotional being,  
his emotions were not chaotic; emotion fueled his discipline, but  
rarely did it distort it.

*After such knowledge, what forgiveness?* Sadly, Spock  
leaned over Jim in the soft light they had never bothered to turn off,  
so quickly had they fallen asleep in each other's arms. He half  
expected to see disappointment, even disillusionment, in his  
expressive face. But Jim was merely sleeping peacefully, a smile  
curving his sensitive mouth and softening the curve of his strong  
jaw.

Deftly, Spock disengaged himself and padded to the  
shower. When he emerged two and a half minutes later, Jim was  
sitting on the side of the bed, wide-awake already thanks to his  
well-honed command reflexes. The lamplight gleamed on his broad  
back. He turned his head to look at Spock. "Just a moment, Spock,  
and I'll be ready."

"It is not necessary to accompany me," Spock pointed out.  
"Don't be silly," Kirk murmured, shaking his head as he got  
up from the bed and followed Spock to the bathroom. "Of course  
I'm going with you."

Spock protested mildly at this illogical expenditure of effort,  
but he was pleased that Kirk wanted to get out of a warm bed and  
walk with him to the transporter building.

Jim carried one bag, Spock the other. The tip of Spock's  
nose tingled in the cool, moist San Francisco night air, banishing  
any lingering drowsiness. Fog had drifted in from the bay, muffling  
their footsteps as they walked silently toward the debarking point,  
shrouding the tall, austere buildings of the base complex.

Here and there an occasional light gleamed in the residential  
towers in an erratic pattern. Spock lifted his eyes to a high, arched  
window flooded with yellow light and wondered why the occupants  
of that apartment were up at this hour. Perhaps they were talking or  
simply too hungry for each other's company to go to bed ... as he  
and Jim had been so often.

On a starship, that was a hunger one seldom could indulge.  
But if they were living here, on the base, in ground posts ... his  
disciplined mind readily conjured up a vision of the life they might  
share here, at Headquarters, if they were bonded ... Jim in the  
Admiralty, and he ... he knew he would have his pick of science  
staff positions. Perhaps a post would be created especially for him,  
to let Starfleet use his gifts to its best advantage and comply with  
the Federation's treaty obligations to Vulcan at the same time. Their  
lives would be full. They would have important, meaningful work.

And there would be time ... time and room for each other. Time to  
share that the *Enterprise* never had allowed them. Time to  
explore each other, to delight in their differences. Room for Jim's  
exuberance and his own sobriety ....

The yellow-lit arched window loomed behind them as they  
neared the transporter building, an ironic symbol of the security  
they had agreed to turn their backs on. The lights and sounds of the  
transporter building assaulted their senses.

They were early, but neither felt like spending the time in  
small talk. They set Spock's bags down in the waiting room, but  
neither made any move to sit down. They looked at each other  
silently, and Spock read the look in Kirk's eyes and knew that he  
was still shaken by what he had seen in the meld that night. They  
did not need to speak. It was almost as though they were still in  
each other's minds, although of course the link had been broken  
hours ago.

It was time to walk to the transporter gate now, and they  
picked the bags up again and turned in the direction of the beam-up  
point for the liner to Vulcan. A handful of other passengers milled  
past them once they neared the gate, but they held back by silent,  
mutual asset, letting everyone else board first. Finally Kirk dropped  
the bag he was carrying and put both hands on Spock's shoulders,  
gripping him tightly. "Please come back as soon as you humanly ....  
and Vulcanly ... are able," he said, trying to smile but managing  
only a lopsided approximation. Spock grasped his wrist, returned  
the grip as tightly as he dared, and nodded.

"And Spock ..." Kirk added awkwardly, holding him by the  
arm as the last of the other passengers boarded the platform to  
beam up, "Spock, when you come back ... please, let's ..." his voice  
faltered for a beat, then steadied again, "... even if its not the  
bonding, I'd still like to there to be some kind of formal tie between  
us ..." He tried to smile, to cover his awkwardness with forced  
humor. "I'd like to be able to introduce you as something besides  
'my First Officer.'"

Spock managed a half-smile. His "Affirmative" was laconic  
but conveyed some of the warmth he felt. The transporter operator,  
anxious to finish his chores for the shift, was looking at them  
pointedly. Spock was about to pick up his other bag, but Jim  
forestalled him with a fierce hug. They clung together for a long  
moment, neither able to let go, communicating love and passion and  
anguish in a taut embrace. Spock had to force himself to break the  
grip and turn to the transporter.

And then he mounted the platform and dissolved into light,  
bound for Vulcan, Earth suddenly as distant as a rudely-awakened  
sleeper's dream.

***********************

Igor Krasnovski glanced at his chronometer and made a  
mental note that his appointment with James Kirk would begin in  
three minutes. He suspected that Kirk was already in the anteroom  
outside his office and had been for at least ten minutes. But  
Krasnovski's aide knew that his superior officer liked to run his  
appointment calendar by the clock and would not have bothered to  
signal him that Kirk had arrived early.

He did not expect the young captain to react with surprise  
when he made the brief, formal announcement he had called him in  
to hear. By having asked Kirk to meet with him rather than with  
Commanding Admiral Nogura, he had already given away the  
news.

He knew, of course, that Nogura already had met privately  
with Kirk and told him that the position of Chief of Starfleet  
Operations was his, if he wanted it, with the rank of Rear Admiral,  
Kirk had politely but firmly refused and requested that he be  
assigned another starship command.

Krasnovski had never told Nogura that although he was one  
of the Commanding Admiral's staunchest allies, he did not think he  
could have supported Nogura if the issue had come to a vote. He'd  
evaluated Kirk's performance himself, and on every criteria his  
department recognized, Kirk stood head and shoulders above the  
other officers of his rank in Starfleet. No doubt about it, he was  
simply the finest starship commander the fleet had ever known.

Kirk had steadily worn down the Commanding Admiral's  
opposition to his request by the sheer force of the support he  
enjoyed among the other members of the General Staff. Finally,  
Nogura recognized that he would be overruled by a strong majority  
of the Staff if he continued to pressure Krasnovski to deny Kirk  
command of the *Lexington* and surrendered to the inevitable.

Krasnovski pressed the button that would summon Kirk into  
his inner office. Kirk entered his office like a sun lighting up a rainy  
day. Although he'd seen a good deal of the former starship captain  
since the *Enterprise* docked, he was still jolted by the force of the  
younger man's personality." Please, sit," Krasnovski hemmed,  
feeling slightly overpowered.

Kirk's body scarcely seemed to touch the chair. He leaned  
forward, taut with anticipation.

"Ah, Captain, good to see you. As you've probably guessed,  
I've called you in to talk about your next assignment."

Kirk nodded courteously, but he did not smile. His eyes  
bored into Krasnovski's intently.

Krasnovski averted his eyes for a brief moment, unable to  
meet the younger man's intensity. After a beat, he looked at Kirk  
again, squarely this time.

"Jim, I'm pleased to offer you command of the starship  
*Lexington.*"

Kirk's eyes widened, the corners of his mouth turned up,  
and his body relaxed perceptibly.

In spite of himself, Krasnovski felt a surge of warmth  
toward the younger man and his straightforward, obvious passion  
for his job.

"The assignment carries the rank of Commodore. The ship's  
primary mission will be space exploration and you will be expected  
to serve a five-year tour of duty."

Kirk was openly smiling now, a delighted grin that  
transformed his face from merely handsome to--the only word  
Krasnovski could think of was "radiant."

He said only "Thank you, Admiral," but his voice was  
vibrant, musical.

Krasnovski had planned to spend the next few minutes on  
small talk, and was rather taken aback when Kirk added, "I've just  
sent you a list of the officers I'm requesting for the senior positions.  
I've checked with all of them and they are available. The message  
should be on your screen now."

Krasnovski was nonplussed. A staff officer for his entire  
career, he harbored a secret admiration for line officers like Kirk  
and their ability to shift gears in a split second.

Sure enough, when he looked at his viewer the message  
corner contained a blinking message from Kirk. He must have set it  
to arrive just after their interview began. He enlarged the message  
and scanned it briefly--most of the names were familiar from Kirk's  
command team on the *Enterprise.* He wasn't surprised to see  
Spock's name at the top of the list.

He'd heard the rumors that coursed through the starbase  
that the dashing young captain and his sober Vulcan first officer  
were lovers, and he supposed they were true since he'd never heard  
Kirk's friends deny them. Until Spock had left to visit Vulcan about  
a week earlier, the two men had been inseparable. They went  
everywhere together, and as far as anyone could tell, neither of  
them frequented the standard after-hours Starfleet officers' haunts.  
He wondered mildly why Kirk hadn't gone to Vulcan with  
Spock--he certainly had plenty of leave time coming--but Kirk's  
active politicking for command of the *Lexington* was answer  
enough.

Kirk was waiting expectantly, tension bracing his muscular  
body. Plainly, he expected a response on the spot. Krasnovski  
considered simply telling Kirk that he might as well take his request  
directly to Nogura, since even if he, Krasnovski, approved it, it  
would certainly be countermanded by the Commanding Admiral.  
Perhaps it was only his pride that stopped him from doing  
that, from acting as though it were anything more than a routine  
request that he would process through normal channels.

"Admiral, do you have any questions about the list?" Kirk  
asked politely.

Krasnovski pretended to look over the list carefully.  
"Ah--no," he hemmed.

"When may I expect a response?" Kirk's tone was more  
pointed this time.

Krasnovski said awkwardly that he would accord his  
request the usual deference and would get back to him shortly. But  
as Kirk left the office, only slightly more relaxed than he was when  
he came in, Krasnovski sighed to himself, knowing this was going  
to mean another battle with Nogura.

************************

Spock lay on the healer's couch, feeling vaguely  
apprehensive. He was not sure why he felt such anxiety; he had  
known T'Lau since childhood, and he trusted her completely.  
His family had not even been curious when he made an  
appointment with her almost the moment he got back. No doubt  
they expected that, having lived among Humans for so long, he  
would have health needs that only a Vulcan practitioner could  
attend to.

T'Lau was a woman of middle age, a healer of the classical  
school. She did not rely only on external symptoms to divine the  
onset of disease, but had developed the skill of engaging the  
autonomic nervous system in direct mental contact, of "sensing"  
telepathically any signs of incipient physical distress long before  
symptoms were manifest.

Spock knew that T'Lau would sense his relationship with  
Jim in his mind, but that did not bother him, although he had not yet  
told his family, even his mother. It would be no more embarrassing  
to T'Lau than an infection or an inflammation would be to any  
healer, bound by her vow of discretion. After she had completed the  
standard examination, he intended to ask her to refer him to a  
specialist in emotional pathology.

T'Lau approached the couch, looking cool and detached and  
clinical. She did not speak to him. She had been meditating to ready  
herself for direct contact with the sub-cortical centers of his brain.  
It was a unique art, one that required its own peculiar preparation.  
Spock lay back, letting his body go limp and his mind  
wander as she placed her hands deliberately on his temples. He felt  
nothing in his conscious mind, did not even feel her mind trying to  
contact his. All he could sense were odd muscular twinges, his  
heart racing rapidly, his breath coming fast for a moment.

Finally, T'Lau broke the meld and went back to her desk.  
She took a moment to recover and then wrote out some notes  
without speaking to him. Spock sat on the couch and waited. At  
last she finished writing, looked over the notes with a quick glance,  
and closed her notebook. She walked over to the couch and looked  
at him.

"You are in fine health, Spock," she said. "All  
systems--digestive, respiratory, circulatory--" she waved her hand  
to cover the rest--are functioning quite efficiently. You are  
approximately at the mid-point of your cycle, hormonal levels  
normal. All body functions are at par, and you have no health  
problems that should concern you."

He acknowledged the information without thanking her, in  
the Vulcan manner. The subject he had come prepared to speak  
with her about was on the tip of his tongue. But she forestalled him  
with a query of her own. "Spock. I was never told that you were  
bonded."

He straightened in sudden shock. He knew she would see  
Jim in his thoughts. It was an unorthodox relationship by Vulcan  
standards. But he had not expected her to misunderstand it. He was  
surprised that a healer of her telepathic ability and scientific  
precision had been this inaccurate. Was she simply too provincial to  
understand an intimate relationship with a person to  
whom one is not bonded?

He groped for a way to tell her politely of her error. "T'Lau,  
I am not bonded. I do have a ... a lover--" he used the narrowly  
sexual term rather than the poetic *t'hy'la*--a Human whom I  
served with, but he and I are not bondmates. As you know, I have  
been living among Humans for some two solar decades and--" he  
raised his chin pointedly, "I do attempt to practice IDIC."  
T'Lau looked at him levelly. "If I had meant 'lover,' Spock, I  
would have said 'lover.' I spoke of your bondmate."

"Please explain, T'Lau," Spock said stiffly, fearing he was  
about to be treated to a lecture on Vulcan morality and the dangers  
of the *pon farr* to an unbonded male.

"When I was examining you," she said simply, "I perceived  
the bonding in your mind." And briefly, but with the utmost clarity,  
she described Jim to him.

Spock's heart raced. "We have never been bonded, T'Lau.  
We have been--lovers--for 0.613 solar years, but we have never  
been before a *lakhaylar*--" the telepathic specialist with the skill  
of joining minds in the marriage bond--"and I do not understand  
how you could have seen such a thing in mind."

She reached up deftly and put her hand on his temple. He  
felt a brief flicker in his mind as she satisfied herself that he was  
indeed telling the truth. Her face was deeply puzzled as her hand  
left his face.

"Very well, Spock, it is true, you have never been before a  
*lakhaylar,* but you are bonded nevertheless. I know of only one  
other possibility: the *khaylas,* the 'natural bond.' If no *lakhaylar*  
has bonded you, it can only have happened spontaneously."

The words shot through him like an electric shock, and he  
put his own hand to his temple involuntarily, as though he could  
verify the news by examining his own mind more deeply. "That is--"  
he wanted to say, 'impossible,' but an instinctive Vulcan precision  
prevented it--"extremely improbable."

She nodded. "Indeed. The odds are ..."

"He is not even a telepath," Spock interrupted, his anxiety  
rising, realizing as he said it that it sounded as though he were  
trying to talk her out of the diagnosis. "He is Human, I am  
half-Human--I do not see how--"

T'Lau shrugged. "You have melded, have you not?"

"Yes, but ..."

"In principle, a *khaylas* can be formed between any two  
persons with an extremely high level of mental compatibility. In  
practice, of course, it is so rare that we have had little opportunity  
to study it, much less be able to predict or explain when and to  
whom it might occur."

"Then you cannot tell me how it happened?" Spock asked  
anxiously.

"No, I know only that it exists."

Never in a thousand turns of his planet's tri-star had Spock  
expected this. It was said that a natural bonding occurred 'once in a  
generation,' and Spock had never known personally or heard of any  
living person to whom this had happened. His mind raced as he  
tried to consider the practical consequences.

T'Lau was looking at him thoughtfully. She was, he was  
sure, thinking of the scientific implications as well as the personal  
ones for Spock. "This is a rare event, Spock, and both you and all  
Vulcan will benefit if our profession is enabled to study it."  
He felt helpless, knowing she was right but resisting the idea  
that his relationship with Jim should be dissected. T'Lau sensed his  
embarrassment and added, compassion in her voice, "I shall not  
allow your privacy and your dignity to be invaded, Spock. But,  
with your permission, of course, I would like to record some  
further observations. If you are willing, I and some of  
my colleagues who are specialists in this field will try to determine  
the etiology of this event. Whatever understanding we gain will be  
of great value to our science."

*Of course.* And*--the unbidden thought rose to the  
surface of his furiously churning thoughts--*he would have to make  
a decision, would need their knowledge to decide what to do, what  
to tell Jim.*

They made an appointment with a group of T'Lau's  
colleagues, and Spock went home, his emotions in disarray.

***********************

Admiral Heihachiro Nogura was absorbed in editing a  
report to the Federation Council, and he declined to look up from  
his desk when he heard the voice of his aide, murmuring  
instructions to the person he had just ushered into the room. He  
knew who it was and why he had come. And he preferred to keep  
his visitor waiting for a few moments.

When Nogura finally raised his eyes, he projected the air of  
a man who had little time for matters that were the responsibility of  
his subordinates. He knew from Igor Krasnovski why Kirk had  
requested this meeting with him, and of course he could have  
refused to have this conversation at all. But Kirk was unbearably  
persistent, and Nogura had decided that it was easier to have this  
conversation than continually to have to come up with new reasons  
not to meet him or than to try to put him off forever.

"At ease," he said tersely, and although Kirk did not stand at  
attention, he did not relax or take the chair Nogura proffered. The  
younger man's eyes were guarded; his face had the deceptive calm  
and smoothness of a master poker player. He did not make small  
talk or wait for an opening. "As I'm sure Admiral Krasnovski has  
told you, Admiral," Kirk began, "I gave him the list of officers I've  
asked to be posted to the *Lexington* over a week ago. All my  
requests have been processed except the post of First Officer-First  
Science Officer. I've asked Admiral Krasnovski several times in the  
last few days for a response, and he finally suggested that I might  
have better luck at your level."

Nogura frowned at this reminder of what he considered a  
character flaw in Krasnovski, his willingness to reveal under  
pressure that the Commanding Admiral's decisions were not  
necessarily the same as his own. But nothing would be gained by  
avoidance, so he nodded brusquely, "You've come to the right  
place, but I don't think luck is what you'll get here. I've refused to  
approve Commander Spock's assignment to a position I think he's  
greatly overqualified for."

"Two positions," Kirk corrected him calmly, his face as  
impassive as Nogura's own, "that, in combination, Commander  
Spock is uniquely qualified to hold. Your own analysis of the Five  
Year Mission showed that his ability to combine both posts  
contributed enormously to the effectiveness of the *Enterprise*  
command team."

Nogura was not about to debate the merits of his decision  
with a subordinate. "Captain, I assume you've discussed all this with  
Admiral Krasnovski. I also assume you understand that  
Commander Spock is an extremely valuable resource to Starfleet  
and that we cannot allow personal preference to dictate his  
assignment."

Something unknowable passed across Kirk's steady gaze.  
When he replied, his tone was impeccably correct but Nogura felt  
the steel in the soft voice. "My relationship with Commander Spock  
is no secret," he said quietly. "But I expect my request to be treated  
on its merits, not on the basis of stereotypes about Vulcans."  
So. Kirk had lobbed the ball into his court, asking him, in  
effect, to admit or deny that his decision had been based on their  
relationship.

Nogura hated to play someone else's game. "Why do you  
bring it up?" he asked in a stiff, frosty voice that, he hoped, would  
make plain to Kirk that he had no intention of stooping to the level  
of discussing his private life.

Kirk stood his ground coolly. "Just in case you had any  
misconceptions about us, Admiral." His hands were behind his back  
now, his posture more military. "Spock and I know the rules and  
the treaty terms. We are not bonded. You can verify that by  
checking the legal records."

Nogura had checked, of course, and he could read in Kirk's  
clear, relentless gaze that Kirk knew that he had. Kirk's drive and  
energy practically leaped across the desk at him, and he had the  
sense of being hounded into a corner. Looking into Kirk's clear  
eyes, he had the uncomfortable feeling that he was transparent to  
the younger man, that Kirk knew the grounds for his refusal and  
would not let go until he had acknowledged it.

He wasn't going to be forced into either an admission or a  
denial. With the instinctive tactical skill he was famous for, he  
decided on a different tack. He paused, leaned back in his desk  
chair and pretended to think for a moment.

When he spoke, his voice was sympathetic and avuncular.  
"Jim, do you remember how many Vulcans we had in Starfleet  
when you graduated from the Academy?"  
If Kirk was surprised, he didn't let it show. He pursed his  
lips slightly and shrugged. "Two dozen."

"Close enough," Nogura murmured, holding a stylus  
between the fingers of two hands. "And now, it's ..." He looked at  
the ceiling, as though the figure were written there instead of in the  
computer on his desktop and his eidetic memory, "Two thousand,  
four hundred and sixty-two. Even after the loss of the *Intrepid.*  
Still mostly in ground positions, a few on all-Vulcan ships, but the  
numbers are growing."

Kirk waited, not patiently, for him to get to the point.  
Nogura swivelled his chair down and looked squarely at  
Kirk. "Do you know how many of those 2,462 persons are not  
bonded, Jim?"

Despite Kirk's carefully controlled expression, Nogura could  
tell he was surprised by the question. The starship captain made a  
small impatient gesture and replied, "I don't know, but I'd guess less  
than ten."

"One," Nogura corrected him, tucking his chin down as if to  
lecture the younger man.  
Kirk was silent, unmoving, but Nogura could feel that he  
was taken aback.

"We know much more about Vulcans than we did fifteen or  
twenty years ago, Jim, when you were a student at the Academy.  
And we go to great lengths to accommodate Vulcan psychology  
and physiology. We assign bondmates in proximity to each other in  
ground postings, even though we don't do that for any other  
species. We exempt bonded Vulcans from deep space duty because  
of the *jarizat-inqaz* and the *pon farr.*"

Nogura waited for a reaction, but Kirk merely looked at him  
in stony silence. He continued, conversationally, "Our  
xenopsychologists--did you know Lori Ciani is a xenopsychologist,  
Jim?--tell us that the bonding serves a deep psychic need for  
Vulcans, a need that is much more fundamental for Vulcans than  
the Human need for the institution of marriage. I suppose they must  
be right; it would certainly explain why so few Vulcans are  
unbonded."

Despite Kirk's formidable self-control, Nogura caught a tiny  
flicker crossing his face, and he knew he'd used the right tactic.

"If this is a conversation about my personal affairs,  
Admiral"--Nogura could feel the effort it took Kirk to keep the  
anger out of his voice--"I didn't come here to discuss them with  
you. I *am* interested in the reasons why you've decided that  
Spock and I can't be posted together."

"I know you didn't, Jim," Nogura deliberately made his tone  
cordial and benign, sensing that this approach was getting under  
Kirk's skin and make him reveal more. "Yet, as you know, if you  
were bonded, you'd have the *right* to be posted together,  
although it would have to be in a ground position. Most Starfleet  
couples in your situation would take a 50% cut in pay to qualify for  
the privileges we extend automatically to Vulcans."  
This time Kirk flinched visibly, and Nogura saw he had hit  
home. The younger man did not answer.

"Jim," Nogura spread his hands on his desk in a gesture of  
sympathy he did not feel, "I know we don't see eye to eye on this. I  
could give you a dozen reasons why it makes sense to assign  
Commander Spock somewhere other than your ship. You could  
give me a dozen in return, none of them motivated by personal  
interests, I am sure. But I've made my decision. Admiral Krasnovski  
supports it. I'm sorry, but you'll simply have to live with it."

Kirk recognized that the conversation was at an end, and  
nodded shortly. "I see, sir. Thank you for your time." He drew  
himself up to attention, turned on his heel and strode out of the  
room.

Nogura knew this was not going to be the end of the matter.  
But he had learned something useful in the last few moments. Kirk  
had taken his remarks about the bonding as a reproach. Plainly,  
those two had not worked out all the issues in their relationship.  
Nogura was more certain than ever that his decision was correct.

***************************

As Spock waited out the days until he could meet with the  
specialists, he found himself in an inner turmoil so profound that  
none of the disciplines in his arsenal could quell it completely. He  
was able to hide it from his parents, who were pleased that he was  
in good physical health and did not inquire further about the results  
of his visit to T'Lau. He spent a good deal of time alone, trying to  
force his shaken nerves to relax so that he could think logically.  
*Alternatives,* he told himself severely, as he meditated in  
his bed chamber. *There are always alternatives. I shall decide  
logically how to confront this problem.*

*Alternative One. To return to Earth, tell Jim of the  
existence of the bond. To base my decision on his reaction.*  
*Scenario A: He will accept it. He will tell me that he is  
pleased, that he feels joy that this has happened (he was the one  
who first suggested that we bond, was he not?) .... We shall be  
posted together automatically, though not on a starship.*

Spock resisted the temptation to fantasize how pleasant this  
alternative would be. This was no time for dreaming. *Continue  
with the scenario. Eventually, Jim would long for another field  
command. But he would not apply for one because I could not  
accompany him. Eventually, he would become bitter and frustrated.  
I would be the cause of his frustration.*

*Alternative One, Scenario B. A compromise of sorts. Jim  
would return to space without me; we would see each other on  
leaves ... Jim would have his starship, I would have the bonding.*  
Spock shook his head as if to clear it of a drug, astonished at his  
own capacity for far-fetched imagination. *No Vulcan would do  
that, could do it. The pon farr ... impossible.*

*Alternative Two. To break the bond*--Spock did not  
know if a natural bond had ever been broken, but theoretically any  
bond could be, using proven techniques--*return to Earth, resume  
our lives as before. Again, two possible scenarios arise. Alternative  
Two, Scenario A. If we remain lovers, will not the bond form again,  
as before? Scenario B: Suppose we forestall that possibility, by  
ceasing to be lovers ... could either of us bear that? To serve  
together as Captain and First Officer, as friends, but no more?*  
He shook his head grimly. The only alternative that made  
sense to him was to break the bond before he told Jim what had  
happened, and to give him a choice. To let him choose between  
loving him with the bond, or not loving him at all. It was easy to  
convince himself that Jim would be generous, that he would accept  
the inevitability of what had happened, that he would welcome the  
bond and rejoice in it ... but honesty told him that he could not  
impose this on Jim. He simply was not ready for the bonding.  
Spock arose from the meditative position and lay down on  
the bed, the bed of his childhood, and rested his aching head on a  
cushion. Jim had already made his decision, that afternoon in the  
fields of Iowa. Spock would not present him with a fait accompli.  
He must free him.

**************************

From the look on Lori Ciani's face as she entered his office  
for their regular briefing before the meeting of the General Staff,  
Nogura could see that she did not have good news to report. "Sir,  
the item that Admiral Mendez placed on the agenda regarding  
Commander Spock--"

Nogura sighed harshly. "You're going to tell me you've  
already counted the votes."

She nodded unhappily. "It doesn't look good, sir. Mendez will  
carry the General Staff by all but one, if not unanimously. Even  
Krasnovski is wavering."

Nogura scowled and resisted the temptation to clench his  
hands. "You've talked to everyone?" He was asking, of course, if  
she had plied the other Admirals with Nogura's own arguments--the  
empathetic Ciani was extremely good at that.

Again, she nodded, looking downright miserable by now.  
Nogura knew how much his aide de camp hated to fail. "Kirk has  
strong support, as you know--Mendez and Sengumba and Abd  
al-Hamid think he walks on water; the rest of the Staff merely  
thinks he's the best starship commander in history. And that he and  
Spock are the best team in Starfleet. And--" she paused and looked  
down at her hands for a moment as though gathering the nerve to  
say what she needed to say next--"there's something else, sir."  
Nogura looked at her impatiently, waiting for her to finish.

"They're convinced you're ... punishing the two of them for  
being ... involved with each other," she went on hesitantly, saying  
the euphemism with difficulty. "As you can imagine, that's not a  
popular position. Anyone who's ever had a romantic relationship  
with someone he served with can empathize with Kirk's situation."  
Nogura threw up his hands in exasperation.

"Sentimentality," he said shortly.

Ciani shrugged and frowned. "Perhaps it's not only that, sir.  
Mendez has reminded the others of the track record of other  
couples who've served together in line positions. Robert April and  
his wife, for example. Several of the Admirals are asking if you  
want to treat Kirk and Spock differently because Spock is a  
Vulcan."

At that, Nogura knew he had lost. And sure enough, when  
the members of the General Staff assembled for their regular  
meeting at 1000 hours, he could sense from their body language  
that the vote would go overwhelmingly against him. He did not  
press it to a vote but allowed Mendez's recommendation to carry  
without discussion.

*******************************

At last the day of the appointment arrived, and Spock met  
again with T'Lau and a large group of eminent Vulcan physicians  
and academicians. So many persons were going to examine his  
mind that T'Lau had helped him enter a light trance before the  
session began so that he would not feel the strain as deeply. He was  
not really conscious of what had happened until he awoke  
later, after they had gone, and was alone with T'Lau in her office.

"What did you learn?" he asked her anxiously.  
She shook her head in regret. "We were unable to trace the  
bonding to any specific event in your memory. That does not mean  
that there was no specific incident that precipitated the  
bonding--merely that it is so closely associated with the linkages  
and neural connections in the sub-cortical levels of the brain that it  
is impossible to locate it in time and space."

Spock mentioned the idea that had refused to let go of him  
during the last several days--the time he and Jim had made love in  
the field in Iowa, the joining that had been so extraordinarily deep  
and close, deeper and closer than any other. Could that have  
precipitated the bonding? She agreed this was possible. The higher  
the level of sexual energy, the deeper the meld, and the greater the  
portion of the brain that is actively involved in the meld.  
If he wished to break the bond, T'Lau advised him--and  
although she kept her face impassive, Spock could tell she was  
stunned at the idea that he would want to break a bond so rare and  
precious and celebrated in Vulcan legend and literature--it would be  
useful to begin with the memory of an event such as that, and trace  
it back into the depths of his own mind to the area of the brain that  
responds to the stimulus of *pon farr* by a link to the bondmate.

It would require a great deal of discipline, T'Lau told him,  
as well as the assistance of specially trained telepaths. She  
recommended that he enter the neuro-psychiatric center several  
hundred kilometers from Shikahr, in the desert, where the staff  
could direct and monitor his own meditative mental effort, the  
effort that would be necessary if he wished to break the bond.

****************************

Spock returned from his appointment with the specialists to  
a joyous taped message from Jim. Jim's energy and elation  
practically leaped off the screen as he told Spock the news. "Spock,  
I have command of the *Lexington.* You've been approved as my  
First Officer and First Science Officer. Nogura was dead set against  
it and ordered Krasnovski not to make the appointment--but the  
rest of the General Staff overruled him."

Spock's heart sank as he listened to Jim's cheerful account  
of the politics of the decision--any shred of hope Spock had  
harbored evaporated in the light of Jim's blazing happiness. The  
tape continued with small talk, a description of the university  
lecture tour Jim had agreed to as a consolation prize for Nogura,  
and his plea that Spock return as soon as he could. "I miss you so  
much," he said simply, the longing in his voice palpable.

******************************

Spock told his parents that he wished to spend time at the  
center--he estimated the equivalent of four standard weeks--to  
'compensate' for the effect of living for so long among Humans. His  
father seemed unperturbed, but the news was plainly unsettling to  
his mother. Late at night, he overheard his parents talking together  
in his father's study, his mother expressing her  
distress that he was still trying to suppress his Human heritage, his  
father trying unsuccessfully to assure her that her son's need for a  
period of intense meditation and discipline was a normal Vulcan  
reaction.

Spock ached to tell his mother that it was not rejection of  
Human emotion that dictated his decision, but its opposite--but he  
could not bring himself to confide in her. He found he had a strange  
fear of her reaction, for he knew it would probably be quite similar  
to Jim's own. Although Humans tended to be believers in eternal  
love, it was also true that involuntary unions--like forced sex--were  
anathema to them. No, what had happened to him was something  
only another Vulcan could understand.

So he sent a tape to Jim, telling him that he would be at the  
center for about four weeks and that he would contact him when  
he returned. "I love you," he said impulsively as he ended the  
message--that Human phrase he had never said to anyone but Jim.

****************************

Kirk had not seen Leonard McCoy in six weeks, and he had  
missed him enormously. After the debriefings ended, Bones had left  
on a long visit to his daughter on Alpha Eridani, and for much of  
that time Kirk had been away, too. After his political struggle with  
Nogura had ended in triumph with his securing command of the  
*Lexington,* Kirk had gone off on a speaking tour of colleges and  
universities. He figured he owed it to Starfleet to talk up its good  
deeds now that Starfleet had given him what he wanted most:  
another five years in command of a starship; another five years  
exploring the far corners of space.

Kirk's step quickened as he walked to the restaurant where  
he and McCoy were meeting for dinner. He had sorely missed  
Bones' insight and solid common sense. His ship's surgeon was his  
confidante, and he badly needed a listening ear.  
He'd had a lot of time to think in the last six weeks, as  
summer had stretched into fall--a rich, brilliant fall of burgundy and  
flame. The changing season had kindled an odd mixture of  
melancholy and anticipation in his mind, and he missed Spock so  
much it was almost a palpable ache. He had tried to keep busy and  
bury himself in work but it wasn't enough to keep the longing at  
bay.

Still, he'd had plenty to do. The*Lexington* was still in dry  
dock and would be for another few weeks, but planning her next  
mission consumed hours of meetings and study and the ubiquitous  
Starfleet politics. Those chores, and heading follow-up and public  
information on the *Enterprise's* mission filled his days, nights and  
weekends.

Off-duty, he'd confined his social life mostly to old friends  
who understood his sense of incompleteness without Spock. Last  
weekend he had gone camping in the mountains up north in British  
Columbia with group of friends and spent most of the time wishing  
Spock were there. He longed to see the lush autumn splendor  
through Spock's well-ordered mind, to banish the advancing  
season's chill from his lean body with love.

Despite his loneliness, Kirk felt a sense of anticipation--for  
the new phase in their lives that would begin when Spock returned.  
In the two weeks they had spent at Headquarters before Spock had  
left for Vulcan, he felt they had affirmed a commitment that had  
never been explicit enough for him in the six month they had been  
lovers on the *Enterprise.* They had acknowledged that they both  
wanted a relationship that would endure not just for the duration of  
a voyage but for the rest of their lives. He'd never doubted Spock's  
love for him, but there had always been that fear in the back of his  
mind that logic, and Vulcan, would one day take Spock away from  
him ... in spite of the uncertainties ahead, he felt a sense of relief  
and joy that they had agreed to stay together.

The exhilaration of the closeness they had achieved in those  
two weeks on Earth had stayed with him, animating him, giving him  
purpose. He looked forward to a future in which that closeness  
would deepen even more as they explored each other's minds and  
souls in love-making and the mind meld.

Perhaps he was being naively Human, Kirk thought, but he  
even felt confident that with his own love for Spock and the  
emotional rapport they shared, he could give him as much security  
and intimacy as a Vulcan bonding. He was damned well going to  
try his best.

He didn't fear the emotional discipline Spock sought to  
strengthen on Vulcan. In his own way, Kirk was highly disciplined  
himself, and he respected and understood Spock's need for firmer  
controls. He was still a little stunned, though, by the emotion, the  
intense fear, that Spock had shown him in his mind the night he left  
for Vulcan. He had not realized how deeply Spock's control had  
been upset by the stress he felt when Kirk was in danger.

Then as the weeks wore on, Kirk had begun to question the  
solution they had agreed upon before Spock left. Was it fair to  
Spock to force him to postpone a true Vulcan bonding, to bear the  
burden of acquiring additional control just to accommodate his own  
self-centered need to command a starship?

Yes, he needed his ship, had felt a great aching hole where the  
*Enterprise* used to be since they'd debarked. Could Spock be  
everything to him, make his life feel worthwhile even in a job he  
hated? Could Spock become the true center of his world,  
displacing his career and his ship? Could he accepted being  
unfulfilled in his work as the price of giving Spock the one thing he  
needed most?

Why had they agreed on a resolution that gave Kirk  
everything he wanted, but forced Spock to take second-best? Yes,  
he could justify it logically. They didn't make the rules for Starfleet  
or Vulcan; they only had to live by them. They were the best team  
in Starfleet, and being lovers had only made them better, regardless  
of what Nogura thought. He could think of no reason why they  
shouldn't repeat an arrangement that had worked so well in the  
past--except what it was doing to Spock.

Gradually, almost imperceptibly, the questions had begun to  
wear away at his own stubborn resistance to considering any job for  
himself but that of starship commander. He had even begun to  
question whether his decision to push for another starship command  
had been right. Surely Spock's well-being was entitled to more  
weight than he had given it.

As he took his seat in a snug booth across the table from  
McCoy, he felt desperately eager for the doctor's advice. Over  
drinks, he poured out the story of his discovery of the *jarizat  
inqaz,* his discussions with Spock about the bond, the  
machinations he had had to endure to secure another command  
with Spock as his First Officer. With some chagrin he told McCoy  
about the meeting he had had with Nogura, before he had asked  
Jose Mendez to take the issue of Spock's assignment to the entire  
General Staff.

"I felt awful when Nogura--Nogura!--reminded me how  
important the bonding is to Vulcans, that Spock is the only Vulcan  
in Starfleet who *isn't* bonded, and that we'd have our pick of  
ground assignments together if we were bondmates," he said  
ruefully.

McCoy listened thoughtfully, with his usual empathy.  
"I'm afraid I've made the wrong decision," Kirk finally  
blurted out to his friend, "denying Spock the bonding. Asking  
Spock to go on serving with me. He's not used to dealing with  
strong, contradictory emotions. I wonder if it's right to keep  
subjecting him to the strain."

McCoy mulled this over in the short silence as their dinner  
arrived. "He's a Vulcan," the doctor said at last, "with all kinds of  
mental and emotional controls that you and I can barely imagine.  
Why is it so hard for him and not for you?"

Kirk sighed and tore a small piece of bread from the loaf in  
front of him. "I'm not sure I can explain it, Bones. I know that being  
Spock's lover has made me a better commander. More centered,  
more balanced emotionally. Happier, of course. I draw on all of that  
when ... when I have difficult decisions to make. But Spock doesn't  
make the decisions--he merely has to live with them. I think it's a  
hell of a lot easier for me to act, even if it means sending one or  
both of us into danger, than it is for him to wait passively."  
McCoy picked at his food thoughtfully, then set his fork  
down. When he spoke, Kirk felt compassion and sadness in his  
voice. "Jim, you may be right, but changing jobs for someone else's  
benefit can be awfully risky."

Kirk was startled. "What do you mean?"

McCoy looked at Kirk levelly. "Making a sacrifice for the  
person you love may seem noble and romantic at the time, but  
there's almost no way to avoid resenting it later."  
"I could never resent Spock!" Kirk insisted, a little too  
strenuously. He knew even as McCoy said the words that his friend  
was right.

McCoy pressed his advantage. "Jim, hear me out," he  
persisted. "When I was married, my wife interrupted her career so  
that I could finish my internship and residency. She stayed home  
with Joanna, pretty much raised her single-handed for the first few  
years. I convinced myself that the universe needed me to work  
eighteen hours a day learning to be a doctor, and that it was  
unfortunate, but necessary, that her plans take second place. Oh, of  
course, she agreed in the beginning that it was only the logical thing  
to do. But eventually, she began to resent it--resent it so much there  
was no way we could salvage the marriage, in the end."  
Kirk flinched inside, protesting to himself that the  
comparison wasn't fair, but Bones' words had hit their mark. He  
kept his voice steady as he replied. "I'm not a martyr, Bones. I've  
come close to getting married at least three or four times before  
this. I never considered giving up my job or turning down a  
command before."

"And that's why your women always broke it off, Jim,"  
McCoy retorted, "for their own emotional survival. But now, you're  
beginning to think of doing something you never would have done  
for anyone else, because Spock means more to you than anyone  
else, perhaps even more than your career. And all I am saying to  
you is that you need to consider your own emotional survival as  
well."

Kirk felt his stomach turn over in despair. Subconsciously,  
he knew he had come to Bones for support in making the most  
difficult decision he had ever had to make--giving up a starship  
command. And Bones was not helping. He looked at McCoy  
helplessly. "I care about Spock's emotional survival, too," he said  
softly.

"Of course you do." The sadness in his voice mirrored  
Kirk's own emotions. "Just don't make a hasty decision you'll regret  
later. You'd be miserable in a ground post."

Unsatisfied curiosity tugged at Kirk's mind. "You admitted,  
Bones, that your marriage fell apart because you gave priority to  
your career. Are you saying that if you had it to do over, you'd put  
your wife first?"

"No," McCoy shook his head grimly. "That's the tough part  
of all this, Jim. When Nancy and I were first married, I needed to  
become the best surgeon I could be just as much as I needed air to  
breathe. Working those long days and nights was something I had  
to do, just the way you need to command a starship."

"Bones, you make it sound like something mystical," Kirk  
said with a crooked smile that he did not feel. He knew enough  
about his friend--and himself--to know that the comparison was apt.

"I know your psych profiles by heart," McCoy went on,  
"Hell, I know them better than my own. What they say about you is  
that starship command is a perfect match for your psychological  
needs."

Kirk shook his head miserably. "I need Spock, too."

"But you have him, and he has you. I can't believe that  
Spock would want you to give up what you do best--and better  
than anyone else in Starfleet--because of him. I think the  
compromise you reached is a sensible one. You placed your  
respective needs on the table and negotiated. That's a hell of a lot  
more than most couples do. You haven't decided not to bond,  
you've only postponed it. It was Spock's choice as well as yours--I  
think you should respect it. He thought it was the logical thing to  
do, didn't he?"

Kirk smiled in spite of himself. A wave of love and yearning  
for Spock welled up in him, so strong he could hardly bear to pick  
up his fork and finish the meal.

***************************

Kirk had planned to go back to his office after he and  
McCoy parted at the door of the restaurant, but he changed his  
mind and turned in the direction of his apartment instead. Today  
was the day the mail shuttle arrived from Vulcan, and today he  
might get a tape from Spock. It had been four weeks since Spock  
had left for the neuro-psychiatric institute in the desert. Spock had  
told him that he would be spending those four weeks in meditation  
and total psychic concentration. Today was the first mail since  
those four weeks had ended.

Anticipation quickened his step. The prickle of intuition told  
him a tape would be waiting for him. A tape telling him that Spock  
had finished his strenuous therapy in the desert, that he had righted  
his emotional imbalance, that he was sound and Vulcan and in  
control again ....

McCoy's words still rang in his mind, and he knew his friend  
had not been wrong. But just as surely, he knew there was more  
than one solution to the dilemma he faced with Spock. Somehow,  
in the course of that conversation with McCoy, a different kind of  
resolve had emerged from the discord of Kirk's own complex  
feelings.

To put Spock first. As he had never done with another  
human being, not ever, not since he had received that fateful  
acceptance letter from Starfleet Academy. To honor Spock's needs  
as truly as he would his own.

As the lights of his apartment building loomed ahead of him  
in the dusk, the anguish he had felt at the restaurant with McCoy  
lifted, and he felt light-headed with joy.

He would tell Spock the offer of the Admiralty position was  
still open, and they would discuss it, calmly and rationally, and  
make a decision. With choice comes freedom, and they had a  
choice. They could choose to serve on a starship again; and, just as  
freely, they could choose not to. He could give up his starship  
command without playing the martyr. And he was going to make  
damn sure that Spock didn't give up anything important for *him.*  
Confidently, he entered the apartment building and called  
the lift.

By the time the elevator neared the twenty-second floor, his  
confidence had evaporated, to be replaced by a heart-pounding case  
of the jitters. *Oh, please, let there be a tape. Let me hear from  
him.*

He berated himself for feeling like a giddy schoolboy. But  
he wanted so much to see Spock's austere features on the screen  
again, to hear his slow, measured voice. *I'm setting myself up for  
one hell of a disappointment if there's nothing there. It might be too  
early. Maybe he hasn't come back yet. Maybe it's taking longer than  
he thought. He may have been too optimistic.* Kirk reminded  
himself that Spock had said four weeks, and Spock was never  
imprecise. *Still, he may not be ready yet, may still be fasting and  
meditating and whatever else he went there to do, and I'll just have  
to be patient a little longer.*

By the time the elevator reached his floor, he'd convinced  
himself not to expect anything. He looked away as his hand reached  
into the small compartment outside his apartment and felt for the  
tapes from worlds beyond sub-space range that the mail service had  
deposited there.

But when he turned to look, he saw a tiny disk with the  
familiar Vulcan marking, and a wave of relief and joy broke over  
him, sweeping away his anxiety. He forced his hand to be steady as  
he palmed open the door, rushed over to the viewer and broke open  
the case.

*Easy ... easy ...* he told himself. *Don't rush. He has  
something important to say ... wait. Wait 'til you calm down.* To  
still the furious pounding of his heart, he forced himself to set the  
tape down by the viewer and go get a drink of water. *Relax! You  
and Spock have some important decisions to make, and you're  
going to start making them now. Sit down like an adult and listen to  
what he has to say.*

Kirk brought his glass over to the viewer, picking up a  
blank disk from the dispenser as he sat down so that he could  
respond to Spock after he'd watched his message. He was calmer  
than he had been in the elevator, but his hand still trembled a little  
as he put the tape in the machine and switched it on, holding his  
breath.

Spock's familiar image flashed on the screen almost  
immediately, and Kirk felt a lurch in his stomach. *How thin he is,  
oh, what he must have gone through in the desert ... a wave of  
tenderness and compassion swept over him. When we're together  
again, I'll be damned if I ever let him go through anything like that  
again ...*

So he was not prepared, when Spock's gaunt image spoke,  
for what Spock had to say.

Kirk felt as though he were hearing Spock's voice in some  
distant part of his mind, as though he were drunk or underwater or  
watching an operation on himself while under anesthesia. He heard  
Spock speaking words that made perfect sense to one part of his  
brain, and left the rest of his mind in a state of shock.  
The words Spock was saying were very clear indeed. He  
just couldn't connect them with Spock. He couldn't believe that  
*Spock* was saying them.

Then it hit home, in a sudden heartsick rush of insight, and  
he understood that Spock was only telling him what he deserved to  
hear. He had no right to be astonished at all.

And then that glimmer of self-revelation was wiped out by a  
sudden hot surge of fury, and Kirk rose to his feet, knocking the  
glass over as he did, hearing it clatter to the floor, not caring where  
the water spilled. He lurched toward the viewer, fists clenched, as  
though he were threatening to disembowel the machine and rip the  
bitter message out of it.

"No!" He shouted at the unseeing image on the screen.

"Spock--no!"

The tape ended then, and the cry tore from his throat like a  
strangled sob. "NO!"

******************************

Like most Vulcans he was adept at fasting, but he had never  
gone this long without food before, and his body was so weak that  
it was all he could do to lift it off the cot and into a meditative  
position. He sat in the simple, round-domed hut, grateful for the  
natural insulation its mud-brick walls provided against the heat.  
The clarity of mind that comes with fasting and rigorous  
mental exercise had long since arrived and was in danger of slipping  
away, and if he did not finish his task soon, it would be too late. He  
would have to break his fast or die. Yes, some men had died here in  
this silent desert retreat, refusing to yield to their bodies' needs until  
they had found the answer they sought. His own hold on life was  
too strong for that, but his fear of failure had become desperate.

As the day grew hotter he grew drowsier and drowsier,  
unable to keep himself from drifting into an uneasy, uncomfortable  
sleep. His throat was very dry, and his body felt small and shriveled,  
desiccated, as though all the life energy had been wrung out of it  
during these last six weeks. He felt as still and lifeless as the sere  
desert air.

*Thoroughly small and dry/Smaller and drier than the will*  
... the fragment of English verse drifted into his mind, and he  
wondered why an image of the Terran concept of submission to the  
will of God had risen in his mind when the discipline he strove for  
was the far more demanding submission to logic.  
At mid-day he began to feel giddy. He was repeating the  
exercise he had conducted, over and over, tracing his bonding link  
with Jim back into the depths of his mind and, with the help of the  
healers, breaking down the autonomic reflexes piece by piece. He  
had broken some of the connections, but many, far too many,  
remained.

The weakness of his body was affecting his ability to  
concentrate. Yet if he broke his fast, so much of his autonomic  
nervous system would be occupied in the digestive and other  
functions triggered by the ingestion of food that tracing the link into  
the subconscious levels of the mind would be almost impossible.  
He closed his mind again and let himself sink into a  
meditative alpha state. He tried to focus on the mind-meld in the  
field in Iowa, the starting point of many of his meditations, because  
it had been so profound.

But instead, he found himself remembering an incident that  
had happened 2.78  
months earlier, when they were still on the *Enterprise,* an incident  
in the Beta Carinae system ... he was more than remembering it, he  
was reliving it, almost.

A sun going nova, Romulan battle cruisers on their flank,  
Jim alone in a crippled scout craft on the other side of the star, far  
out of transporter range, helplessly buffeted by the nova's rapidly  
shifting gravitational field ......

Aware that he was losing consciousness and control, Spock  
fought the dream. But each time he slipped out of consciousness he  
began again to feel the raw terror he had felt then--and the painful  
memory was like an electric jolt that jarred him back to  
consciousness. But he slipped back again ....

The Romulans blocked their way to port. The only way to  
get to Jim was straight ahead, through the penumbra of the nova  
itself. The heat seared his face, sweat beaded his forehead. He could  
only imagine how his Human shipmates felt. The bridge crew  
turned to him, reciting the unsurprising readings. Hull temperature  
rising rapidly, shields disintegrating.

They stared in horror as he ordered them ahead, straight  
into the star. "We'll be burned to a crisp," someone muttered, he did  
not know who, his mind was a red haze, he couldn't tell where the  
sounds were coming from.

Demented, he drove them on, far too near the sun, the only  
fragment of thought in his mind how to reduce the distance  
between them and Jim's shuttlecraft. Their only hope was to shoot  
through the heat so rapidly that the ship did not have time to burn  
up. To do that, they'd need all their engines' power, with none left  
to maintain what was left of the shields, nor any for the emergency  
cooling system that was now on full power.

As Humans said, out of the frying pan, into the fire.  
"Cut warp power to the shields and cooling units," he  
ordered Engineering. "Direct full power to the engines. Maximum  
possible warp. Add impulse power to boosters. We must have at  
least Warp 10 to get through the penumbra."

Scott was aghast. "The engines are overheatin' already, Mr.  
Spock, and if they don't break up from the strain of making Warp  
10, without any shields or coolant, they'll surely blow up from the  
heat! We're going ta lose the ship for sure if we continue!"  
The rest of the bridge crew looked at him expectantly,  
sweat running down their faces. He could tell from their eyes that  
they thought him mad. If it had not been for their loyalty to him,  
and to Jim ... but in the suffocating heat, an even hotter fury drove  
him on, to get through the nova and rescue Jim.

"Follow my orders, Mr. Scott. Give every ounce of power  
you've got to the engines." He ordered medical units to the bridge,  
ordered all hands into the  
interior parts of the ship, as far from the hull as they could get. The  
bridge crew, exposed at the top of the hull's bubble, would have to  
rely on the more primitive expedient of cold packs to keep their  
body temperatures low enough to avoid collapse. He ordered the  
transporter room to prepare to lock onto Jim's crippled scout ship,  
had Chekov drop everything else to plot its coordinates.

The ship gave a long, ominous shudder. The temperature  
rose sharply and then, in a split second, they were through, and  
Chekov, wiping the perspiration from his eyes with a towel, was  
telling him, "Coordinates located, sair ..." and without even waiting  
for Spock's order, feeding them into the transporter room. And then  
Kirk was there, looking flushed and rattled and about to collapse  
from heat stroke himself, but splendid and whole ....

Spock wondered afterwards what demon had possessed him  
then. Now, reliving that hellish scene again, he knew. Wide awake  
now, he sat up on his cot. He had thought it was Human emotion  
that had gripped him then, had taken over his reason, made him do  
what was wholly irrational, against all the odds.  
Now he knew that there had been nothing Human about it  
at all, that all-consuming urge to save his bondmate, no matter what  
the risk to four hundred and thirty other lives. It was the *jarizat  
inqaz*, the primitive "rescue instinct of one bondmate for another.

He knew then that they had been bonded long before that  
afternoon in Iowa.

Other memories crowded into his mind: Tholia; the planet of the  
obelisk; all the countless other times he had endangered the ship  
and defied reason to rescue Jim ... if he traced it as far back enough,  
he knew that he would find its roots growing back into the origins  
of their relationship, long before they had been lovers.

He could not go back. Even if they did not remain lovers,  
the bond would form and reform again, just as it had when they  
served on the *Enterprise.*

He could never serve on a starship with Jim again.  
He shuddered, the strong emotions draining the last  
quantum of energy from his fasting body, and dropped down on the  
cot again. *I cannot go back and tell him this. I will not force him  
to give up his life's mission for me.*

He fell into a fitful sleep--he had not slept soundly since he  
arrived at the center-- and it was near dusk when the healer who  
attended him came to waken him and tell him it was now critical  
that he break his fast. The older man shook his head grimly as he  
took his hand from Spock's temple. "As we have told you, the  
bonding connections in your mind are vast. Today we made little  
progress with the severing. I have rarely, in my entire career, seen a  
mind so imprinted with that of the bondmate. You have no hope of  
completing the task."

The healer went toward the main building to bring other  
members of the staff. "I am not finished ...." Spock whispered  
hoarsely after him. "Let me have another half-day ...."  
The arrival of the others jolted him back into sanity, and he  
realized that the healer was right. The task was hopeless. And even  
if he were successful, of what use was it? He had no solution,  
neither for himself nor for Jim.

*Terminate torment/Of love unsatisfied/The greater  
torment/Of love satisfied ....

There was only one thing to do now, no, two things ... first  
to notify Jim that he had failed, that he would not return. Thank  
Vulcan discretion that Jim would never know of the bond. Jim  
would be hurt deeply, but better that than force a Vulcan bonding  
upon him.

The other task was easy: to find something to do for the rest  
of his life.

*And after this our exile ....*

***************************

Kirk sank down into the chair again, shaking, fighting back  
a strangled sob, far past the point of shedding tears. "Spock," he  
shook his head furiously, "Spock, you bastard--you don't mean it!"

The message had ended and only a grey, blank screen stared  
back at him. He hit the machine savagely and shut it off. "Damn  
you, Spock! Damn you to a million hells ..." He clenched his fists,  
then clutched his head in his hands. Spock's words reverberated in  
his mind, a terrible litany.

*I have learned in the last four weeks that I am no longer  
the master of my emotions, if indeed I ever was. I cannot continue  
as I am. I can no longer take the risk of serving by your side ...  
Jim."

The gaunt throat had tensed in an awkward swallow and he  
said the devastating words, *I have decided not to return to Earth.  
I must remain here, on Vulcan.*

He had stopped then, as though the effort of saying those  
words had exhausted him, and then pain rushed into his face and he  
said hoarsely, *I am deeply sorry, Jim. I know ... what this will do  
to you. If I did not believe this is better for both of us, I would not  
have decided as I have.*

And then the dreadful finality of, *Goodbye--t'hy'la.*  
One thought rose in Kirk's mind with awful clarity: *I did  
this to him. I drove him to this. I knew he couldn't cope  
emotionally. I saw the strain he was under ... and I couldn't love  
him enough to spare him that strain.*

His eyes stung and the lump in his throat thickened. *But I  
did, I do love him enough--I just had to put my own ego first. I  
knew what he wanted, and I told him I couldn't give it to him.*

Perhaps he could never undo the wrong he'd done Spock,  
but there was only one way to try. Swallowing hard, he went to the  
communications console and punched up the shuttle schedule for  
Vulcan. Nothing tonight or tomorrow morning, but with any luck  
the mail shuttle was still in port. He had learned its routine by heart  
in the last several weeks of mailing tapes to Vulcan.

He'd use every connection he had and every ounce of brass  
to see that he got on it. He made a few quick calls, confirmed that  
the shuttle was still in port, and located her captain in the shuttle  
docking bay. She told him curtly--and predictably--that the shuttle  
didn't take passengers.

As soon as the shuttle captain switched off, Kirk called her  
superior. After a conversation that lasted nearly fifteen minutes, in  
which Kirk went from charm to cajolery to veiled threats and barely  
stopped short of promising the man the Andromeda nebula, he go  
what he wanted.

Next, he left three messages for Starfleet. One was a notice  
to Operations and Personnel that he was using accumulated leave  
time to handle a personal emergency of an unspecified nature. With  
grim satisfaction, he cited the precise section in the regulations that  
entitled him to it. The second was a message to his administrative  
assistant to see that his unfinished work was reassigned if necessary  
and to cancel all appointments he had in the next few weeks  
Considering the next message he was going to send, he'd be  
canceling most of those appointments anyway.

The third message was addressed to Nogura, but it was  
really a message for Spock, because it was the only way Kirk could  
prove to him that his commitment to him outweighed his own need  
to command a starship. "I have decided to accept the position of  
chief of Starfleet Operations," he said slowly, deliberately, as  
though weighing every word. "Please notify Personnel to make  
other arrangements for command of the starship *Lexington.*"

He grabbed a few essentials, stuffed them in an overnight  
bag, and half an hour later boarded the mail shuttle, ignoring the  
remarks the captain traded with her first mate to the effect that he  
was surely the most expensive piece of freight they'd ever carried.  
He didn't blame them for resenting him because he'd gone over their  
heads to get on this tub, nor for forcing them to double up to make  
room for them. Later, they became more welcoming, but although  
he accepted their whiskey, he preferred to drink it alone in his  
berth.

It was four days to Vulcan, and he spent a good deal of it  
pacing the floor of the tiny cabin, or lying on his back, thinking of  
all the things he'd done wrong. His colossal ego. His selfishness.  
His blithe assumption that with a few minor adjustments Spock  
could be just as content to serve on a starship again as he was.

Well, things were going to be different. He wasn't going to throw  
away the most meaningful thing in his life just to play Captain, the  
center of the ship, the center of Spock's personal universe ...  
In those four days he rehearsed many, many speeches to  
Spock, some flowery and sentimental, some straightforward and  
severely logical, some as clumsy and awkward as he felt. *Spock,  
we just weren't communicating properly, you have to make  
allowances for me, I'm dense sometimes, you've got to be more  
blunt with me ....*

But Spock had been as open as Kirk could have expected  
him to be. Kirk had known what he wanted. He'd just been too  
stubborn to acknowledge it.

He tossed and turned on the narrow berth and conjured up a  
million ways to compensate for what he had done. If Spock would  
let him.

*********************

Kirk drummed his fingers on a communications console at  
Vulcan Space Central, waiting for an answer from Spock's home.  
Their machine did not answer and was not set to receive messages.  
That was odd. He'd begun calling as soon as the shuttle came within  
subspace radio range, with the same result.

He decided that having coming this far, he couldn't wait idly  
at the space central hotel until he got an answer. He rented an aircar  
and drove the thousand-odd kilometers to Shikahr, sensing with an  
instinct he could not name that someone was home. But even if  
Spock and his family were away, he'd rather wait until they got  
back.

Vulcan cities were laid out so logically that he had no  
trouble finding Spock's house from the map. He parked the aircar,  
got out, strode up to the massive front door of the old stone house  
and rang the bell, once, twice, wondering if Vulcans considered it  
rude to ring more than once.

Finally, he heard footsteps approaching. Heavy  
footsteps--not Spock's.

The imposing figure of Sarek filled the doorway. Kirk felt  
suddenly embarrassed to burst in on him like this. An apology  
formed on his lips, but Sarek nodded imperturbably and gestured  
that he enter the house before he had a chance to voice it.

"You will forgive me," Sarek said impassively as he ushered  
him into the great room, sounding strangely unsurprised to see him,  
as though having people drop in to visit from a planet light years  
away were an everyday occurrence. "My wife is unwell."  
In spite of his problems, Kirk felt a surge of concern,  
remembering Amanda's age and Sarek's own history of poor health.  
The ambassador's voice sounded very tired, and as they entered the  
room and Sarek turned to face him again, Kirk could see how  
drawn and pale his face was.

"So I must receive you unattended." His voice was strained,  
colorless.

A cold fist grabbed Kirk's stomach. "Spock ... is not at  
home?" he asked hesitantly. *Maybe's he's on an errand, or at the  
laboratory,* he argued to himself, fearing what Sarek was going to  
say next.

Something almost imperceptible tugged at the corner of  
Sarek's mouth. "No, Captain Kirk, he has not been at home for the  
last 2.37 of our days. He left .... to join a meditative community, the  
Masters of Gol, in the desert far from here ..." He stood straight,  
his arms behind his back, but this time, he did not keep the sound of  
defeat from his voice.

Kirk started toward him, his heart pounding. The hand in his  
stomach squeezed his gut, sharply, sending waves of pain into his  
skull. "What?" He was gaping at Sarek like an idiot. "The ...  
Masters of Gol? Who are they? Why.... did he leave?"

But deep inside his outraged mind, he knew. He knew.  
Sarek motioned him to a chair and sat down. "The Masters  
of Gol are ... a contemplative order." His voice was soft and correct  
as always. Kirk guessed he was not going to favor him with his own  
views about what Spock had done. "Their goal is to purge all  
remaining emotion from the mind. The end result of their discipline  
is a state known as *Kolinahr,* which is--perhaps you might  
understand it as complete depersonalization of all thought and  
memory. It is ... the removal of all affect from mental images and  
ideas. The subject no longer has any individual memory of those he  
... cared for."

Sarek spoke slowly, precisely, his voice as dry and  
impersonal as the state he was trying to describe. But Kirk could  
tell that his words had been chosen with Kirk's own concerns in  
mind.

*Of course. That's what Spock would have to do, once he'd  
decided to run away from me .. become super-Vulcan, find refuge  
in total logic and non-emotion, take them to their ultimate  
conclusion .... And all because his experiences with Human  
emotion--with me--caused him so much pain.*

Kirk fought back the rising lump in his throat, the panic and  
guilt that welled up in his chest. He could not afford to let emotion  
overpower him now--he had to think strategically, to move quickly,  
to intercept Spock if he possibly could before he had completed this  
devastating move.

Kirk pulled himself together and sat ramrod-straight in his  
chair, thinking furiously. *I know, Sarek, you didn't want him to  
go, either. I know that Amanda is alone in her rooms because she is  
as devastated by his departure as I am. Please--please help me to  
bring him back. For your sake, for his mother's, not only for mine.*  
What he said was, "You say he left two days ago. I need to  
speak with him. There is some news I must ... bring him. Something  
that might have some bearing on his decision to join this ...  
meditative community, which might change his mind ..."

Sarek raised an eyebrow. "The Masters of Gol do not allow  
just ... *anyone* from outside their community to communicate  
with a postulant, Captain. He has pledged himself to their  
community; his decision is quite final. He has broken all his ties  
with his old life."

Kirk barely heard the last two sentences. *Dammit, I'm not  
'just anybody'!* his mind screamed. But he could not say that. He  
looked at Sarek warily, struggling to find the right words to ask the  
question it hurt so much to ask. *How much had Spock told him?  
Can I ... tell this man that his son loved me, wanted to bond with  
me?*

For several beats the two men looked at each other, trying  
unsuccessfully to read each other.

Finally, Kirk spoke. "Is there any way I can obtain  
permission to speak with Spock?"

Sarek looked at him a moment longer as though measuring  
him, deciding how to phrase his answer. "I do not know if you will  
meet their ... criteria. You must understand how difficult it is;  
neither his mother or I, for example, are allowed to see him at all."  
Kirk's heart sank, then rose a fraction as Sarek continued,  
"You will have to go there in person, of course. They have no  
communications devices at their citadel." His voice was carefully  
noncommittal.

Kirk leaped to his feet, trying not to seem as over-eager as  
he felt. *At least I can go there.* A current of hope coursed  
through his mind. If he could only gain access to Spock, speak with  
him ... surely they would let him see him, once they knew.  
With a dry calm that made Kirk feel awkward, Sarek  
walked to a sideboard and picked up a map. No doubt it was the  
map they had used the day before yesterday to set Spock on his  
journey to the desert community. He pointed to a marking on it.

"This is the location of the Citadel of Gol, and this is the route you  
must follow ... you will have to park your aircar here, on this  
plateau, and walk the rest of the way."

"I--I can find it, Ambassador," Kirk stammered, swallowing  
the words of gratitude that rose from his throat as he accepted the  
map Sarek proffered. When would he ever learn *not* to thank a  
Vulcan?

He was just turning to leave when Sarek spoke again.  
"Captain Kirk. Spock left a message for you in case you should try  
to contact us. In case you are not able to speak with him yourself, I  
shall repeat it. He said that you must understand that his departure  
was ... not your fault."

Kirk's eyebrows knit in puzzlement. "Not my fault?"  
Sarek looked at him quizzically, in the manner of one who  
pretends to be merely the mouthpiece of a message he does not  
understand. "That is what he said."

*************************

Kirk's throat was dry and his head was splitting from the  
blinding light of the three suns. He felt as though he'd been walking  
for hours, although it probably had been no more than forty-five  
minutes from the aircar. At last, the citadel loomed up ahead of  
him. a monstrous, carved stone gate stood at its entrance; it looked  
as old as the mountains from which it had been quarried.

A brass gong hung beside the gate, and for lack of any other  
instruction, Kirk struck it. The wizened old man who appeared a  
moment later spoke to him in Old High Vulcan, but Kirk was  
thankful that someone was there to receive him at all. He'd manage  
to communicate with him somehow. "I wish to speak--briefly--with  
one who has just joined your community, a man called Spock ..."

The old man listened impassively to Kirk's halting High  
Vulcan, but at least he did not refuse outright. At that, Kirk felt a  
glimmer of hope. He paused, unsure how to frame his request.  
Expressionless, the old man asked him, "By which claim  
would thee speak with  
him?"

"I--" fearing he might say the wrong thing, Kirk foundered.  
*Claim--right, obligation--what did he mean?*  
"By which of the Three Claims would thee speak with him?"  
the old man intoned again. It had the cadence of a ritual chant.

Kirk struggled to put the words together in the unfamiliar  
language, to explain what he was to Spock.

"He was my best friend, and I his," he began slowly. "We--we  
* loved* each other--we were lovers. We planned to spend our  
lives together. We joined our thoughts. We were closer to each  
other than to anyone else in the universe."

The elder gazed past him and without any sign that Kirk's  
words were responsive to his question, repeated the ritual words  
again. "By which of the Three Claims would thee speak with him?"

Kirk stiffened in frustration and tried again.  
"We served together--" Kirk used the language of the  
ancient Vulcan warriors--"as sword and shield mates. We loved  
each other more than life itself. He called me t'hy'la."

Still, no response. The emotional language washed over the  
elder as though he had not heard it.  
"Hast thee one of the Three Claims?" the man said patiently.

Apologetically, Kirk confessed his ignorance of their  
traditions. "I'm ...I'm afraid you'll have to tell me what the Three  
Claims are, sir."

Stolidly, the man recited, "By Tradition, once a postulant  
has passed through these portals, only those with one of three  
claims upon him--three ties to him in the outside world--may ever  
speak with him again."

"And ... what are those three ties?" Kirk asked, his heart  
beginning to sink.

"The Claims are those of son, daughter or bondmate ..."  
The old man seemed to be weary of explaining all this to an  
outworlder.

Kirk's heart twisted in despair as he realized how close he  
was. He opened his hands in a gesture of supplication and pleaded  
with the man. "I intend to be his bondmate."

The gatekeeper stared at him abruptly, and for the first time  
Kirk felt he was seeing him as a person. "Thee are Spock's  
bondmate?"

"Not ... yet," Kirk said desperately, "But I *will* be."  
"Thee will be in the future?" The old man looked at him  
intently, as though to be sure he had understood his broken High  
Vulcan.

"Yes!" Kirk insisted, every shred of sincerity and  
persuasiveness he possessed poured into that single word.

"But thee have not bonded *yet.*" The man's gaze was  
sharp, cutting him to the core.

"No," Kirk, "Not yet, but --"

But the gatekeeper was no longer looking at him and when  
he spoke it was in the voice of ritual chant again. "If thee art not  
son nor daughter nor bondmate, be thee gone from here, thou hast  
no Claim."

Kirk's arms fell to his sides, heavily. Sarek must have  
thought ... He stared up at the huge stone gates and imagined  
himself storming them, running Spock down and pleading with him.

The fantasy evaporated in the blinding light of the Vulcan suns and  
he looked back down at the frail stranger who was already  
beginning to withdraw behind the gates, preparing to close them.  
And he heard himself speak as though at a distance, the words as  
disembodied and unemotional as though a Vulcan had spoken  
them.. "No. We didn't .... we almost ... but we didn't ..." His voice  
broke before he could finish.

The old man had already disappeared, as silently as though  
the sun had melted him down, and with a final thud of stone on  
stone the gates closed behind him. Defeated, Kirk turned and left.  
Left the fortress, left the mountains, the desert, and Vulcan, and  
Spock.

*************************

Promptly at 1000 hours, Admiral Nogura called the  
holocom meeting to order. The images of the seven other members  
of the General Staff had already solidified in his office.

The first order of business was to welcome their new  
member. Nogura had planned to inject a note of ceremony into the  
occasion. But James Kirk, the youngest Rear Admiral in the Fleet,  
did not look at all celebratory. Was it an illusion of holographic  
projection, Nogura wondered, that made Kirk look hollow,  
defeated, drained of the energy and vitality he had always projected  
whenever Nogura had encountered him in person?  
No matter. Kirk was here, in the tidy world of the  
Admiralty, and Nogura had his figurehead. And a figurehead may  
be hollow. Indeed, if it is, it will only serve its purpose better.

The End.


End file.
